Ceridwen Brightflame
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Tall, athletic build. She seems to be in her early thirties, but there is a timeless quality about her features that makes it somewhat difficult to judge her age.
Facial Features
Pale blonde hair with an almost metallic sheen which creates the impression of a halo, especially in fire or candlelight. Those familiar with aasimars know this as a sign of her celestial heritage, despite her otherwise remarkably human-like appearance.
Her brown eyes are warm and friendly, and her face is open and honest, both promising and inspiring trust and loyalty.
Apparel & Accessories
Wearing chain mail with ease, like a second skin, longsword at her side and a large shield with the emblem of Bahamut strapped across her pack.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
For the first few years of her life Ceridwen grew up on her family's estate near to the holy city of Vasselheim in Exandria.
Many generations ago, her ancestors had fought alongside Bahamut during the [big god war - still getting my head around what this is]. During the conflict, Bahamut granted some small part of his celestial strength to some chosen from among his knights, including Ceridwen's many times great grandmother Angharad. Once peace came, these god-touched warriors were granted estates and titles, settling around Vasselheim and governing the country around that city with justice and honour. Only one condition was placed on this grant - whenever a child was born to any house showing signs of the celestial legacy of Bahamut, that child should be sent to the Great Temple in Vasselheim, to serve in whatever capacity the church deemed fit.
When Ceridwen was born, the third child of her parents, the signs were plain to see - she was an aasimar, touched with Bahamut's blessed light. For her mother and father, honour and heartache were mixed in equal measure.
Unlike her brothers, whose training was principally in the administration needed to govern their lands well, Ceridwen was free to choose her own studies to see where her talents might emerge. She loved music most of all, spending long hours with the lyre and the flute. Her family gave shelter to travelling bards through the long harsh northern winter, and from them she learned the art of storytelling, often accompanied by the music she herself composed to match her words.
These tales and compositions, carried in her head, would be the only treasures she was permitted to take from home, when, on her fourteenth birthday, she was set on the road to Vasselheim with all due ceremony.
Thus began Ceridwen's life as a Ward of the Church - she was sad at first to leave her family and friends, but she had known all her life that this time would come, and she was also excited to be a part of something so beautiful as the Great Temple. Once through the gates, something in her blood recognised it as a homecoming, and she felt comfortable and safe within its walls.
As her training progressed, it became clear that she had a gift for both preaching and for battle. She was given a choice, to train as a priest, teaching the people the ways of justice with her sermons, and moving them to mercy with tales of saints and exarchs past, or to become an oathsworn warrior, defending the land and its people against the abominations of the evil gods. She prayed on it for a long time, asking guidance from the angelic spirits which had always watched over her. Eventually, and with some sorrow for the road not taken, she chose the sword over the pulpit, and commenced her military training in earnest.
The warriors of Bahamut will counter injustice wherever it is found, of course, but their true purpose is to hold the line of defence against fiends and undead, and any such evil spirits. She was schooled in how to hunt these creatures down, wherever they might appear on the battlefield, how to counter their dark magics, and how to channel the power of Bahamut against them.
She has spent several years serving with the Scalebearers in their defence of the city, but now her mentors deem her ready to complete her training in the wider world.
In which we receive a call to service and Sabali goes missing
I have said that our time in Whitestone was fruitful, but quiet - all that changed last night. We had risen for an early breakfast and were gathered in the common room of the inn when there was an urgent rapping at the door. It was opened to admit three members of the Whitestone guard, all looking rather stony faced and unhappy. Their leader, one Captain Jareth, I was later to learn, swept his eyes across the company and singled out Raphael almost at once.
His manner was strained, but polite as he asked Raphael’s permission to search his belongings. I don’t know what would have been the response had Raphael refused the request, because instead he acquiesced with a wary but almost resigned expression on his face. Perhaps I imagined it, but Raphael's movements as he rose to conduct the guardsmen to his quarters seemed a little stiff, by the his usual graceful standards at least. I felt a stab of compassion for his situation, it was, to a very large degree at least, not his fault that he should find himself so much and so often the focus of doubt, but nor was it in truth avoidable. His response was calm and dignified, and I got no sense of guilt in his manner with the guards, but even so I could hardly discount the possibility that they might had a good reason for their actions. I wish it were otherwise, but it is no good striving to nurture trust in Raphael the man, when Mab, his Queen, pulls all his strings, and she is so far beyond even the idea of trust.
It is fair to say that Raphael’s composed response was not replicated in all quarters. One of the guards looked sharply at Zeni, and she began to babble something about practicing a new spell. I don’t know what she had been intending to do, but it wasn't practice and I doubt it would have improved the situation. Still, remembering the times before when she has been able to perceive a threat that none of the rest of us could see, I took the chance to quietly open my own senses to any hint of evil that might be present in the room. I felt nothing unusual, and so resolved to bide in patience until we learned more.
Raphael and his escort of guardsmen returned to the tap room within a few minutes, the soldiers visibly more relaxed. It was only then that their Captain was willing to discuss the cause of his suspicions. The news he brought was shocking - that Lord Percy had been attacked in the night, and badly wounded, although, thank the gods, his life was not now thought to be at risk. The assailant had been a male elf wearing black clothes and a red sash. Someone, apparently, had made the decision to search everyone new in the city who fit this very broad description, and that included Raphael. It seemed rather thin to me, if that was all they had to offer as an explanation. Surely such an assailant would have been very likely to disguise their features, and anyway, surely would have disposed of any incriminating clothes in the fire by now. I am no master schemer after all, and even I could see the necessity for such a measure. Surely an assassin would not be so bold as to return directly to his own lodging and then hang up his bloodied robes in the closet?
I think it struck us all that this tale of the attacker with the red sash was uncomfortably familiar, from the report given to Arin by the shade of the unfortunate Kursk in Westruun. Raphael informed Captain Jareth at once about this striking commonality with what we had seen before, He looked troubled, as well he might, but nonetheless grateful for the intelligence. I hope that Raphael being the one to tell that tale, and with frankness and honesty, has gone some way at least to allaying whatever suspicions they had of him.
Sabali also spoke up before they left, and told again the strange tale which he had mentioned before, back in Westruun, about some fabled mercenary killer named Suke Pugoto. To be honest, I hadn’t paid that much attention to the story the first time, it seemed so improbable that a legendary assassin from some far off country would be interested in killing a local bureaucrat in Westruun, even if he did have ties to the underworld. It seemed even less relevant here and I confused as to why Sabali was telling it again. Captain Jareth however, immediately showed an interest, repeating the name several times over as if searching his memory for something. Eventually he seemed to find what he was seeking, but then looked, if anything, even more puzzled. The name Suke Pugoto, it turns out, means ‘scapegoat’ in the Markesian tongue. Sabali flushed a little, and said that he had not been aware of that. It was an odd twist to the tale, someone's idea of a joke no doubt.
After apologising for the interruption to our breakfast, Captain Jareth made it clear that we would be welcome at the castle later, should we choose to call there and consult with the Lord and Lady, and we agreed that we should do so once we had completed some little business of our own in town that morning.
As soon as we were alone again, Raphael began to question Sabali. To my surprise, although he spoke evenly, even gently, he accused Sabali of outright lying about his knowledge of Suke Pugoto. I would never have thought to question such a thing myself, but as I looked at the two of them speaking, I was quite sure that Raphael was correct, something was off here. Sabali looked increasingly unhappy, although he continued to maintain his denials stoutly. It was very strange. I thought perhaps he might have been embarrassed to be caught unknowingly repeating a tale which some wit had apparently invented to sport with those who did not speak the Markesian tongue, but that would be most uncharacteristic indeed. I have never known Sabali to be pretentious or affected in that way, but I could see no other explanation for the discomfort which he now displayed. Mind you, if that were the case then Raphael's interest in the matter made no more sense to me than Sabali's apparent deceptions.
We were diverted from that train of thought in any case by the arrival of a messenger for Wind, who turned out to have an update from Pick, in Westruun. Nothing much to report, so Wind declared, stuffing the papers quickly into a pocket as she spoke. Now Wind is one who will lie, almost as easily as breathing, and I could see Raphael’s eyes narrow as she turned swiftly away, dodging all his questions. Wind likes to have her secrets, I know that well enough, and normally I don't mind it too much, but in light of what had just happened, news from Westruun could be important, and it's a shame that she wasn't more forthcoming with whatever was really in that letter.
Several members of the party had errands to run that morning. I did not, and so I remained quietly in the tap room, taking the opportunity to run through in my mind the spells and prayers which I had prepared for today, while people came and went around me. Zeni and Raphael stayed too, sitting with their heads close together, and speaking in low, confidential terms.
Wind returned from the post office after an hour or so, reporting that she had met Sabali there, and he had told her that he was feeling unwell, having eaten something which had upset his stomach. I had seen no sign of this earlier, but it was most certainly something which Simeon or I should be able to mend easily enough. The troubling thought crossed my mind that he might have done himself some harm while brewing up those potions of his, at least some of which I suspect may contain ingredients which not be entirely within the bounds of the law.
We heard the bells strike the eleventh hour, which was the time at which we had agreed to head up to the castle, and there was still no sign of Sabali's return. That in itself was not so surprising, I could imagine well enough that he might prefer to spend his time entertaining the common folk with japes and tumbling, rather than lunching with the nobles. He has very little respect for rank, or for social niceties, and if he did not feel like coming to meet the Lord and Lady, then he very likely simply would not do so. I was sure that we would see him later, with or without an explanation for what he had been up to, but I could see that Zeni was obviously worried. She decided to remain outside the castle in order keep a look out for Sabali, and I offered to wait with her if wanted company, but I was not surprised that she preferred to look for him alone. They have a strange but powerful bond, those two, and if there was something wrong, then surely Zeni was the one that Sabali would turn to.
As we made our way up to the keep, Simeon cast a spell on himself to alter his features to those of Sabali. I don’t know why he would do such a thing, and to be frank, it seemed to me to be unworthy of both our hosts who had shown us so much favour, and of Sabali himself. If anyone else had done such a thing I would most certainly have attempted to dissuade them, but Simeon is an ordained minister of an ancient church, whose ways, I know, include such dissembling. I am no priest, only a simple knight, and it is hardly my place to question the practices of Sehanine’s adepts. And so I held my tongue, colluding in the lie even though it shamed me to do so.
We were ushered into the audience chamber, where Lady Vexalia was on her feet, pacing restlessly, while Lord Percy sat in one of the large chairs, bandaged and pale, but alert and clearly in no danger from his wounds. A third man was also present, introduced to us as Lord Palmer, a Member of the Tal Dorean Council serving as the Master of Information. He had come to consult with the de Rolos on a matter about which, as it happened, we were able to offer some insights of our own.
Raphael repeated the tale which we had told to Captain Jareth about Kursk, and the still unsolved matter of his death, at least at the time we had left the city. Lady Vexalia asked what sort of man Kursk was, and we told her of his dealings with the Clasp, and our supposition that this had led in some way to his demise, whether directly or indirectly. Of course, there could be no question that Lord Percy might have any such unsavoury associations, and so we were none the wiser as to what might be the connection between the two events. Of course, although it went unspoken, one obvious answer might be our own presence in both cities, and our recent dealings with the victims of both crimes. I fear that there must be a connection of some sort, but what that might be I have absolutely no idea.
Raphael mentioned the Suke Pugoto story, for the sake of completeness I think, but it produced little more than puzzlement from those present.
Our tale of Westruun told, Lord Percy seemed determined not to dwell on the events of the previous night, and invited Lord Palmer to instead speak about the business which he had come to Whitestone to discuss. I was surprised that he should be willing to speak in front of us, strangers as we were, but it soon became clear that he wished to do more than simply to honour us with his confidence.
He told us that the opening between the realms, through which we and Lady Vexalia's men had passed to reach the faewild, was not an isolated incident. There were multiple reports of the barriers between the planes becoming thin and fragile, even breaking down in places. He then showed us, by means of a most realistic illusion, the image of a stone which apparently can be used as part of a ritual which creates such damage to the walls of reality. We had not seen any evidence of such stones on our travels, but Enessa recounted what the Lord of the Hunt had told us about the incursions into his own realms. All present greeted this news with grave faces, as though hearing unwelcome but not unexpected tidings.
In the discussion which followed we received a most remarkable invitation. Lord Palmer believes that the most promising place to further investigate these disturbances is the close to the Scar outside Emon, and he requested our assistance in that investigation, were we available to offer it. He even suggested that we might be able to join him in teleporting to Emon tomorrow, saving us a journey of many weeks.
It is of course a very great honour that such a man might regard our services as valuable in such a significant matter, and I am sure that we will do everything we can to aid him. Not having all the members of our little band present, we did not make a firm commitment at the time, but I cannot see any reason that we would refuse to help.
Before we left, Enessa returned to the uneasy topic of the previous night’s attack. She asked how the would-be murderer had gained access to the keep, and we were told that it had been under cover of magical darkness, with the assault itself some sort of dagger thrust from a hidden assassin. Lady Vexalia had pursued and wounded the man, but had been unwilling to leave Percy’s side to chase him down. It was chilling to think that the man might still be out there, might try again even, and I hoped that the Castle would mount a stout guard tonight.
With Lady Vexalia’s injury on the hunt, and now Lord Percy being attacked in his own chambers, the de Rolo family seemed rather to have been singled out for misfortune over the past days. They seemed to be dealing with it dutifully enough though, all their concern facing outward to the problems which Lord Palmer had brought for their attention. The look on Lady Vexalia’s face however, when she described how much she had wanted to strike down her husband’s attacker, left me in no doubt as to the depths of her anger at what had happened.
We said that we would send word as to our intentions regarding the journey to Emon as soon as we were able to reach a firm decision, and we set out from the castle to find Zeni, and, I very much hoped, Sabali. Zeni we discovered readily enough, not that far from where we had left her. It seemed that she had been trying to contact Sabali by some magical means, and that he had replied and given her to understand that he was still unwell. He would not, however, tell her where he was. She looked very worried indeed as she relayed the news. I was worried too, if he was sick and needed help then we had to find him, and quickly. The potions that he brews are dangerous, even I can see that, and if something had gone wrong in their making then he could be in a lot of trouble, and would need help as soon as we could give it.
Mind you, the look on Zeni’s face when I mentioned that possibility suggested that she suspected something else was going on. With no other clues, we returned to the inn, where Enessa tasked Ussi with trying to catch Sabali’s scent. To everyone’s surprise, he led us up a narrow back staircase and out onto the roof of the building. There, in a deeply recessed gap between the eaves where the shadows would lay thick at every hour of the day, the trail seemed to end abruptly. Confused, and for now at least, at a loss, we headed back downstairs to consider what to do next.
In which Orlando finds his Path
Travelling back to Whitestone took a day and half, but It turned out that the time shift had in fact worked in our favour, and that no more than an afternoon had passed since we had first entered the rift, which meant that we found ourselves back in town no more than four days since we had set out.
The journey was uneventful, but I was glad to have had the chance to practice my recital of the battle, because I was obliged to repeat it several more times for those who had no memory of what had occurred.
Raphael continued to pointedly avoid Enessa all the way back, and she made no effort to speak to him. Whatever the problem is here, this lack of communication isn’t likely to resolve it. However, I very much doubt that Raphael would be inclined to listen to anything that I might have to say about it, so I will have to hope that Zeni can do something to mend things. Increasingly, she is the one in whom he seems most willing to confide.
I spent the majority of the journey back by Orlando’s side, discussing all that we had learned about the guns of Whitestone, and what to make of all this talk of fae wars and breaches in the fabric of the planes. We were a long way from home, and very much has changed in the past months, but still, that process of thinking things through together was comfortable and familiar. A most welcome feeling after the immense strangeness of the past few days.
Arriving dusty and travel stained around midday on the 4th, we found Lord Percy waiting impatiently for us at the gates of the keep, rushing forward and sweeping his wife into a passionate embrace as soon as our little party came in sight. These are two people obviously still very much in love, and it would have been a hard heart that was not touched by their obvious pleasure and relief at seeing one another again.
We were dismissed in short order by the reunited couple, who clearly had business of their own, but with promises of reward and celebration in the days to come. Heading back to our lodgings at The Last Woodpecker we found young Eva engaged in scribing work, which she showed to Zeni and Sabali with some pride. I was very glad to see her happy and settled, and I hope that she will be able to remain here in Whitestone. Of the towns I have visited in Tal Dorei, it seems to be one of the best governed and most godly. She should be able to build a good life here.
The next day we received an invitation to dinner at the castle, and I, along with most of the others, decided to invest in some new clothes for the occasion. We all looked very smart, although Sabali’s choice was a bit eccentric. I assumed that it was something traditional to his people, but he himself seemed rather unsure about it. The question I wondered was, how did he end up with something so unusual if he did not request it specifically from the tailor? Realistically, this is a question to which I will probably never know the answer, but I’m glad to say that the outfit did at least include trousers, which was something I think everyone was grateful for.
It was a lovely evening, the Lord and Lady of Whitestone had gathered a somewhat eclectic but certainly charming set of guests. Everyone was very kind and fulsome in their praise of our efforts, and we were made to feel most welcome, even feted - both Zeni and Wind received generous gifts from Lady Vexalia, and we were all lavishly rewarded with coin. Such tokens were unnecessary of course, but will certainly be useful.
Lord Percy promised to allow Orlando access to the castle’s workshops, and I could see the pleasure and excitement in Orlando’s face at the prospect. This is what we had come here for, after all. Or so both of us thought at that time anyway.
At one point, Zeni asked me how I thought Enessa was doing. I told her that I thought Enessa was fine, not unhappy about the bargain she had made, not as far I could see in any real trouble because of it, and that Raphael’s reaction was odd, especially given his own circumstances. Zeni said little, except that she thinks she has a way to smooth things over. If she does, then I wish she would get on with it. No-one likes this tension in the group, and Raphael is clearly suffering in ways that I at least do not understand. Lashing out like that almost always comes from a place of pain, but if he won’t talk to us about it, or not to anyone but Zeni, then I don’t see how we can help him.
The party went on until late in the evening, and when we finally headed back to The Last Woodpecker we were well fed, rather drunk and most contented.
The next few days were filled for the most part with fairly mundane matters. Raphael and Zeni headed together to the library, as has become their custom of late, while some of the rest of us restocked our supplies.
Enessa returned to the inn one evening with a very involved tale about a jeweller who had apparently insisted that she sit on his doorstep and dismember the rather rancid troll’s head that she has carried this last week, so that he could make its horns into a fine pair of bracers. It seemed rather an improbable suggestion for him to have made, but Wind assured me that it was true, the jeweller had requested it specifically. I suspect that there is a context here that I am missing, and the tale wended its way eventually to a point where I found that I was opening my purse to assist with some magical enhancement to these ivory armguards, but anything that renders that grisly trophy into a more useful and less odorous form is worth a coin or two in my book.
The most important moment of this week came later. A few of us had headed over to the forge of a renowned local blacksmith named Gardain Greybeard. Originally from Kraghammer, he has established quite the reputation in this city for engraving weapons, and even armour, with symbols which he referred to as runes of power. It’s fine work, and I was intrigued to see the craft practiced there. I have always had an interest in smithing, after all any warrior worth her salt must understand at least the basics of forging a blade, but this is something else altogether. Whitestone really does seem to be a haven for such innovations and I suppose that we have Lord Percival to thank for that, his reputation as a patron is clearly well founded.
Gardain, or GG, as he prefers to be known, and his husband Theran were friendly and willing enough to explain their work once it became clear that we were more than just idle gawpers. Simeon commissioned a silvered dagger engraved with runework on the spot, and Sabali also made an order for engravings on some of those deadly shurikens which he uses sometimes, on the rare occasion that he is unable to close with the foe.
I saw GG eying Valour’s Edge with interest, considering, I suspect, where best to place his runes upon her steel, but sadly his more sophisticated arts were rather too rich for my purse, and today at least I was looking to purchase only some simple javelins. To get them, I had to endure a rather lengthy and tiresome discourse on the relative merits of the dwarven or the elven style of weapon. It hardly matters in the end. What some folk will never understand is that when it comes to javelins, it is neither the length, nor the thickness of the shaft that is important, but only the skill of the warrior who wields it.
I could see that the Kraghammer burr in GG’s voice initially made Orlando wary and reluctant to speak, but as we all talked, he relaxed and clearly began to warm to the dwarf. After a little time, the conversation turned to the gods, and to the many ways and forms of worship in this world. Orlando has often mentioned with scorn the rigid and inflexible rites of Moradin’s church in Kraghammer, and I was concerned that the two might fall out over it. As it tuned out, GG did not seem inclined to disagree with that assessment, although I was very glad to hear him say that the failings of priests should not be conflated with the glorious experience of the divine itself. An important point, and too often overlooked.
The smith spoke most eloquently, and although I’ve said the same myself to Orlando many times, a person must be ready to hear such words before they can truly find fertile ground. I watched Orlando’s face and it suddenly seemed to me that, by the grace of the gods, he was ready. Open hearted and receptive in a way that I had not seen in him before.
GG gave a slightly knowing smile to Simeon and I, asking us to step outside so that he and Orlando could converse in private. I could feel the potential for change in that moment, and most likely Simeon could sense it too, being more deeply connected to the divine realm than I, although he wears it lightly enough. We readily agreed, and I sat outside the the smithy in the chill winter sunshine and silently gave thanks to whoever had put this man in our path. One who could speak the universal wisdom in terms that Orlando might be able to make his own. A greater blessing I could not have wished for.
Later Orlando told me much of what had been said, and I could see the light of wonder beginning to blossom in his eyes. This rune smithing clearly holds something of the gods own work in its craft, and GG has offered to teach it to Orlando. A priceless gift, that offer, to show him how to honour the gods in his own manner, how to worship with hammer and hands rather than book or song. Not my way, but beautiful nonetheless.
As he describes it to me, I can hear the new current of faith, of that delight in the divine which I know so well, bubbling beneath the surface of his words, and it makes me so happy that I almost shout my praise aloud. I don’t think he sees it yet himself entirely, but it is there, I have no doubt.
Even while he offered loyal service to the gods in Vasselheim, risking life and limb to defend the holy places, he was never able to share in our communion, and that has been a great sadness for me for a long time. Try as I might, I could never crack the hard shell of doubt and fear that was the legacy of his time in Kraghammer, but now I see the gentle waters of faith begin to rise in him, and in time they will wash away that pain.
A blessed day. If nothing else of merit happens in all this long journey, it will still have been worth every weary mile, to sit here in this little inn at the far end of the world and watch my dear friend’s eyes open to the true glories of creation. From now on we shall walk together in the light, sharing the great solace which faith brings, and each giving praise in our own way.
In which a giant is slain, and Enessa claims her prize
The next day we awoke before dawn and ate a hurried breakfast by the embers of last night’s fire. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, the Lord of the Hunt sent us on our way with an easy grin, not expecting, I don’t think, to see us again. Or not all of us at any rate. He had a more sincere smile for Enessa, and a look passed between the two of them which I found hard to judge. Raphael saw it too, and it seemed to me that his face was clouded with doubt before he turned away.
If it was so, then his suspicions were quickly confirmed. Once we were on the road, Enessa told us that she had made a separate pact with the fae Lord, to kill, with her own hand, a certain druid who was accompanying the giant. In payment for which feat of arms, and on presentation of a token which the druid carried on his person, she would receive a powerful magical bow. Should she fail, then she, together with Ussi, would give herself up as a slave, bound to labour on the Lord’s behalf with the rest of the hunters. She was happy, excited by the prospect of the bow, and undaunted by the fear of failure. Raphael looked as though he had bitten into a lemon, but he said nothing, simply walked pointedly to the back of the party and began speaking intently to Zeni about some arcane detail or other.
For myself, I was not sure what to think about Enessa’s bargain. More information has come to light about this arrangement now than it did then, but I shall tell the tale in the proper order.
Certainly, the Lord of Hunt had gone out of his way to flatter her, making it clear that he respected her skills and valued her hunting prowess, and I am sure that made her more inclined to take the risk of being bound to his service than she would otherwise have been. At the end of the day, a slave is a slave, whether petted and praised or not, and it was a truly dreadful risk to take.
But, I’m not going to say that she should not have done it just because I would not have done so - she made that choice freely, in her right mind, understanding the consequences, and facing them bravely.
Simeon suggested that if the druid died by some other means we could simply revive him for Enessa to kill once again. I was a little shocked at the suggestion that the holy power of restoring a departed soul to its body could be used for such legalistic maneuvers, but I could find no fault with his logic, and if he was confident that Sehanine would sanction such a dubious practice then under the circumstances I was certainly not about to argue with him.
We made as quick a progress as we could through the unfamiliar terrain but the forest floor was thick with plant growth, and it was heavy going for everyone. We had been told that close to where the giant and his followers could be found we would see corruption in the land, and we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of blight, but as yet there was no indication of anything amiss.
After a few hours walking we came to a river which was deep and fast enough to require some effort to cross, and then a little further on a second stream, this one traversed by a well made stone bridge. Looking over to the far side, some people thought that the trees looked a little strange, and so Wind cautiously scouted ahead. She had barely got to the other side of the stream when certain of the trees on both sides of the bridge began to behave in a most hostile manner, whipping their branches painfully across our faces, and even managing to pick up chunks of stone to hurl at those who managed to stay beyond their reach.
The fight was not long, but still they managed to get in some nasty blows, and, under time pressure as we were, we could only perform the most rudimentary of healing magics before moving on.
The next part of the walk was less pleasant, everyone was on edge now, and Enessa seemed less sure of the path. Afternoon began to dwindle toward evening, and the sky darkened. We seemed to walk in something like a wide arc, before doubling back on ourselves. The evening light low when we gradually began to notice that the sounds of the forest were becoming few and far between. The ground underfoot opened up, as dense underbrush gave way to brittle dead and dying stems. The very air here felt stagnant, and a sickly sweet scent of decay underlay the rich odour of the forest.
We moved forward as quietly as we could muster, Wind again, after a little persuasion, scouting ahead, looking for the source of a low growling sound which came and went as the breeze shifted direction. As we got closer, carefully following Wind’s lead, it became clear that what we could hear were words, spoken in the giant’s own language, a tongue which none of us could decipher. A large clearing opened ahead of us to the north, and as we approached the last trees before the open ground, we heard a shrill sound rather like a complex series of bird calls. The conversation, if such it had been, stopped instantly, and, before we could react, a volley of arrows fletched in the elven style, landed squarely on our apparently not so concealed position.
The sound that came next was a terrible baying howl, rough and guttural, with a rasping quality that made the all hairs stand up on the back of my neck. A huge black dog slunk out of the darkness, its body slender like that of a greyhound, but much larger, perhaps the size of a pony, and with an uncanny, almost humanlike face. It did not appear to be bound by gravity, its feet treading the air just as though it were solid ground. Everyone, except perhaps Orlando and Raphael, instinctively took a step back, looking around and considering escape routes, some raising hands to their ears to try to block out the awful yowls. I was relieved to be able to ascend higher and get a clear view of the field of battle.
Apart from this hound, and the Fomorian giant itself, the hostile party consisted of the druid which Enessa had been tasked to hunt, and several elven archers, although I was never clear how many of these there might have been, or how they all met their ends. Perhaps some may have slipped away in the glooming twilight, amongst the trees. Much of the battle was confusing and fragmented after all. At one point a huge wall of flame stretched much of the way across the clearing, cutting us off one from another, and scorching the already corrupted and blackened ground.
I got the sense that the druid made several other attempts to use magic, but was thwarted by a strange suppressing gesture from either Zeni or Raphael, which seemed to cause the magic to dampen and fail before the spell was even fully formed. It was strange to see, and the druid himself looked puzzled and then increasingly frustrated by whatever was happening. It is certainly a useful power, however it might work.
The giant itself fought hard, before eventually falling to an inspired shot from Wind which caught it directly in the left eye. Before it died, it managed to unleash some sort of curse against Enessa, causing her right arm to shrivel and weaken, and her back to twist out of shape. The very act of bending a bow in that condition must have been agony, but still Enessa loosed arrow after arrow, each one flying true and striking home, until, eventually, a shot found its way to the forehead of the druid, and he too fell into the dirt. Enessa whooped in triumph, and I think we all breathed a sigh of relief. She might not have doubted the outcome, but my heart had been in my mouth as the chaos of the battle raged around us and I could not see Enessa anywhere near the druid. Of course, I should have known that with Enessa, as indeed with many of the Unbroken, proximity is hardly necessary.
The token carried by the druid turned out to be a disc of black metal bearing the symbol of Lloth. A filthy thing, and I am glad that we did not have to carry it long. The druid’s body itself showed some troubling signs of corruption, but perhaps such things are more common in the faewild, I do not know.
The journey back was difficult and stressful. We were all tired, some finding it hard to keep their feet by the end. At first I had to summon Aoife so that Enessa could ride, such was the extent of the weakness imposed by Cachalain’s curse, but a few hours sleep en route was sufficient to restore her, and the next morning she walked into camp with her back straight and her head held high, the rest of us happy to cede to her the place of honour.
The Lord of the Hunt welcomed us back with apparent pleasure, leading his followers in a generous gesture of applause. He accepted the medallion of Lolth from Enessa’s hand, and promised her the reward which she had earned. His obvious distaste for Lolth reassured me, whatever else this Lord might be, he could recognise evil when he saw it at least.
With a casual wave of his hand, he freed the four men who had agreed to become shadow hounds in exchange for their lives. They were confused and disoriented, but seemed physically to be well enough when Simeon and I looked them over. I did my best to view them with compassion, and to treat them gently, but these were men who had sold away their very souls for nothing more than the right to continue to draw breath. They have been given a second chance, by the grace of the gods, and I hope that the future will offer them a chance to redeem themselves. Lady Vexalia deserves better servants than these poor wretches.
While we ministered to the restored men of Whitestone, Enessa was receiving the recompense for her own great gamble. She spoke with the Lord of the Hunt for quite some time, and we all glanced curiously over from time to time to see how the conversation seemed to be developing. Raphael stared openly, a look of concern growing on his face. We saw the Lord hand Enessa a great bow, beautifully inlaid and carved, and at least a foot longer than the one she had carried up till then. A mighty weapon, and obviously deeply magical. Enessa looked delighted, but her face became a little less certain as the conversation continued, and once or twice I saw a flicker of surprise, although at what I cannot say.
The Lord of Hunt insisted that we stay to breakfast (ignoring all protestations to the contrary), and asked that the tale of the battle with Cachalain be told. I obliged, of course, using my lyre to add depth and richness to my words. Rather conscious of how far I had forgotten myself last night, I told the tale plainly, just as the church teaches us to do, keeping to the matter without adornment and effacing my own role as far as possible. It was clear that Enessa was regarded as the hero of the moment, and I was glad to celebrate with her the relief and joy which she evidently felt. She joined in the story with gusto, acting out the more dramatic moments and at one point miming a hilarious parody of her own cursed form. The company fell about with laughter, and I am glad to say that almost everyone seemed in high spirits when I set down the lyre. Even those who had applauded but grudgingly on our return seemed to soften in their regard. I was pleased - glad to see that a true tale told simply in the old Vasselhiem style could find favour even here.
As we ate, Zeni asked a question which had been playing on my own mind as well - in so many tales of the faewild, the protagonists emerge back into their true lives only to find that years or even decades have passed, and their families and friends have grown old or are even dead. Of course I had faith that Bahamut would not allow such a cruel turn of events, but still, I was most curious to hear the answer. It was only partly reassuring, the Lord of the Hunt would assist us in the crossing, so he said, but even so he could guarantee nothing, and there was indeed a chance of inconsistency in the timelines. I sent up a heartfelt prayer, and tried to make my mind rest easy in the knowledge that the gods protect their servants from such evils. In that endeavour I was not entirely successful.
On our hurried march back through the wilds, we had glimpsed on occasion a shining golden tower some little distance away, and I think that had we had more time, some of our number would have been very tempted to investigate it further. Indeed, I think that a few might have been keen to go there even then, once breakfast was done. The Lord said some members of his entourage had made such forays in the past, but that none had so far returned. That dampened everyone’s enthusiasm for such a mission, but even so, he said that if we cared to try in the future, then he would grant us guest rights in this land while we travelled for that purpose. I did not find this offer even slightly appealing, but I could see both Wind and Zeni looking thoughtful.
As we gathered round, Enessa proudly showed off her new bow, which is truly a magnificent weapon. She told us that it was last wielded by one Sigruun, a champion of Melora in ancient days, and is known as Death’s Whisper. We all admired it, save for Raphael who glowered and said that gifts which come with prices are not gifts at all. Enessa raised an eyebrow and looked rather pointedly at Frostweaver, as indeed I think that we were all inclined to do, to which Raphael could only reply that the circumstances were very different. Sadly, this is very true, although taking that out on Enessa seemed rather unfair. Still, much worse was yet to come on that front.
Before we finally said farewell to the Huntsmen, the Lord’s conversation turned serious for a while. The holes which had opened up between the realms, both that which had admitted us, and that which had allowed the Fomorian in, were not of his making, and indeed, he did not know who had made them. That being must be powerful however, and he was troubled by the implications of what had happened. I don’t know what to make of this, but I intend to find out more information when I can. Too much is happening lately that I do not understand.
I prayed hard as we stepped up to make the leap through the invisible portal back to our own world, and when we arrived I was immensely glad to see that it looked just as we had left it. The bodies of the savagers were still piled high, and had hardly rotted at all, indeed much less than I might have anticipated in three days, and I let out a big sigh of relief.
What happened next was very confusing. Orlando, Sabali, Wind, and Simeon started asking when we were going through the portal, and who these extra men were who were accompanying us. I had barely begun to answer their questions when, pulling himself angrily to his feet after tumbling through the portal, Raphael started to shout violently at Enessa, who looked very taken aback.
It took me a moment to register what he was saying, but the essence of the matter was that he was not happy that Enessa had made a bargain with the Lord of Hunt. His anger was bitter and barely controlled, and his words and manner were insulting, calling her blind and stupid, and a foolish child. Having given vent to this tirade, he stormed off in the direction of the grove in which we had left Lady Vexalia. Most of what he had said was little more than a stream of invective, but there were two things which did concern me, firstly that Enessa had promised favours to the Lord, and secondly that she was now embroiled in some sort of fae war as a result.
Zeni, and then Sabali, followed hot on Raphael’s heels, while I remained to speak with Enessa. She was a little pale, understandably shaken by the unexpected ferocity of the attack, but she spoke calmly, explaining the business with the favours, and emphasising that she had the right to refuse to perform any task which she did not wish to do. That did not strike me as any sort of oath of service, which is the accusation which Raphael had made. I don’t think that Enessa was lying about that, she is, after all, not one to avoid responsibility for her actions, or seek to dissemble in that way.
Enessa is young, that much is true, but I have seen in her a sense of empathy and compassion which many who have far more years would do well to emulate. When it comes to these favours, the question does not seem to be one of compulsion, but of judgement, and I know her well enough now to trust her judgement. She can be terrifyingly reckless, yes, but she is also kind and open hearted. I think that Melora’s blessing, if such this bow truly is, might fit her well.
And so the favours were explained, to my satisfaction at least, but neither of us had any idea what this war amongst the fae that Raphael alluded to might be. I file that away as yet another question to be pondered over later, when there is leisure to do so.
For the present, I heard Enessa out, listening calmly and quietly, giving her the space to regain her composure and seeking to avoid another confrontation. I reassured her that no-one sees her as a child. Indeed, over these past months I have come to value her perspicacity just as much as her strength in arms. What neither of us said, but I suspect that she too was thinking, is that the right and opportunity to be a child had been taken from her, whether she wanted it that way or not.
She told me something else which I would not have understood a few days ago, but now I think perhaps I do, at least a little. She told me that she needs the hunt, she and Ussi, that it is an itch that she must scratch. There was an odd yearning in her voice as she spoke, and I recognised it. It was the same yearning which was threaded through the music of the hunters. I don’t feel this urge, I doubt that I ever will, but I know what she is speaking about because that is how such music works. It gets into your bones and leaves traces there of things you might never have an inkling of otherwise.
I don’t know why Raphael is so appalled by Enessa’s bargain. What happened to him was a terrible violation, as I have said before, but this is not at all the same, and anyway he does not even recognise Mab’s behaviour as wrong. Enessa did this with the choice clear before her, in full command of her faculties, and even now she retains control over her own actions. I can only wish that even one of those conditions were met in Raphael’s own case.
Orlando, may the gods bless and keep him, despite having, as it turns out, no memory of the past three days and therefore no doubt being incredibly confused, not just by Raphael but by everything else, still recognised what needed to be done even without the context and managed to keep the others from interrupting Enessa and I, or rushing off after Raphael. As Zeni appeared back with Lady Vexalia in tow, I gave him a very grateful look and mouthed a promise to explain everything on the walk back.
Zeni and Sabali were alone when they returned, save for the Lady, with no sign of Raphael, and both looked stressed. Enessa made a show of perfect indifference, and responding to my questioning look, Zeni said that things are okay, to be patient.
I hope that she is right. Raphael’s behaviour is baffling to me. I would have thought that he would have felt, however mistakenly, rather vindicated by someone else in this group having dealings with the fae, but apparently I am wrong in that supposition. Is it because of this war? I need to understand this situation better, but I am at a loss as to who to ask. Perhaps someone in Whitestone will know more.
In which we make a bargain with the Lord of the Wild Hunt
2nd of Horisal
After concluding the battle with the beasts known as ‘savagers’, and once we had rested and healed our most immediate wounds, we looked around for the anything which could explain the disappearance of the members of Lady Vexalia’s hunting party.
It took a little while for us to get a feel for the place but after a few minutes Zeni sensed the presence of a powerful magical anomaly in the centre of the clearing. Further investigation revealed that anomaly to be a small tear or hole in the very fabric of the material plane, most likely forming a sort of crude gateway into the faewild. We concluded that the members of the hunting party must have entered this portal, most likely inadvertently, and perhaps had become trapped on the other side somehow.
We had a brief discussion as to wisdom of following in their footsteps, given the apparent difficulty of returning, but in the end all were agreed that while there was a possibility that the hunters could be rescued, the attempt must be made. Lady Vexalia was too badly injured to accompany us, and so we made her as comfortable as possible in a nearby grove, promising to return with news as soon as we were able.
Raphael appeared a little nervous at the prospect of entering the faewild, perhaps because of Mab’s warnings and counsel. The title of winter knight always seems to draw a strong reaction from those who know its import, and I wish I understood more of what it meant. He insisted that we refer to him as ‘Kyros’ for the duration of this expedition, and he altered his appearance subtly as well, roughening his accent and dressing rather like a common street thug. This sort of practice, not uncommon among youthful aristocrats in the urban centres of Tal Dorei, is, I believe, referred to as slumming. As a guise, it is certainly less offensive than masquerading as a godly knight.
The portal, so Zeni informed us, was hovering some 10 feet above the surface of the ground, and presumably it had moved somewhat if the hunting party had stumbled in unawares. For lack of any other material, we used the piled up bodies of the savagers to make a sort of ramp up to a point from which we could easily make the jump. It was bloody and unpleasant work, but the end result was effective enough. Still, Simeon called the blessings of Sehanine on each person as they leapt and we were grateful for his help.
I must confess that I myself had made the jump with my eyes closed and my mind fixed on prayer. Perhaps because of that, I landed flat on my back with a jarring thump that half knocked the breath out of me. Opening my eyes and looking up, I could see a purple sky through a canopy of blue-green leaves. Everything was shimmering in a gentle light that somehow seemed to soften the edges of everything it touched. The air was thick with the buzzing of insects, and from the leafy ground a rich earthy perfume rose and mixed with the scents of huge flowers.
I sat up, staring open mouthed, and rendered speechless by the sheer strangeness of what surrounded us. I was distantly aware that some of the others were discussing the best way to make sure that we could find this place again at need, but I was lost in contemplation.
Our tales do not do justice to the faewild. It is alien and other, yes, but it is also thrumming with a glorious sense of life. Our preachers often speak of it’s glamours as shallow, and full of false majesty and empty promises. I am sure that there is wisdom in such words (and I can assure you that I was suitably wary and guarded throughout our sojourn in those lands) but I am also sure that there is more to it than that.
Enessa, who seemed perhaps the least overwhelmed by our new surroundings, said that she could hear the sounds of a camp some little distance off, through the trees. Moving as quietly as we could manage, we made our way in that direction, and soon all could hear the jingle of harnesses, and the whine and yap of dogs, together with snatches of conversation in voices too low to make out. Peering through the trees, we saw an extraordinary sight. Perhaps two dozen huntsmen and women were encamped in a forest glade, the majority of them elven folk, but with a wide variety of persons from eladrin to goblins amongst their number. In the centre of the group a large elf stood proudly, half naked, his head crowned with antlers like a stag. On his back he wore a great spear wound about with vines, but in his hand he held a wine cup. Others were similarly relaxed; this camp, while warlike in its equipage, seemed for now bent on revelry, not bloodshed.
Before we could retreat, the great elf spoke aloud, calling us forth. He made no obvious effort to see where we were lying hidden, but still, it was evident that he knew. We exchanged troubled glances, but I for one have never liked to skulk in the shadows, and so I stood, brushing leaves from my surcoat and stepped forward into the light. I was closely followed by Enessa, who I noticed had risen as gracefully and easily as if she had sprung from a comfortable chair at the fireside.
The man greeted me politely enough, but it was clear from the first that Enessa was the one who held his interest. He watched her light step with appreciation, his gaze lingering on the bow she carried on her shoulders, and on the silent form of Ussi padding by her side. Welcoming her as a fellow hunter, he introduced himself as ‘Lord of the Hunt’, a title which I took to have some significance beyond the current expedition on which he seemed to be embarked, and which I later learned related to the fabelled Wild Hunt, of which you have no doubt heard tales.
On the strength of Enessa’s status as hunter, he offered us a place at his fireside while we spoke, which we accepted, having, after all, very little choice in the matter. He indicated that our still hidden companions should come forth and join the conversation, gesturing, casually but with uncanny accuracy, at the spots where they were concealed. Some were reluctant to show themselves, but a couple of hounds sniffing around persuaded most to come forward with more or less good grace. The exception was poor Sabali, who seemed too exhausted to care even about the hounds, and remained curled beneath a tree, unwilling to stir now that he had the chance to rest.
The Lord of the Hunt us if we had come seeking to join his number, and Enessa demurred warily, saying that we were on a hunt of our own. He smiled indulgently at that, but I could see that he regards it as of no importance whatsoever. Raphael, his voice still that of Kyros, explained that we were seeking four men who had, we suspected, entered this forest by mistake, and who were sorely missed by those they had left behind.
The Lord smiled more broadly, showing an unexpected and almost implausible number of sharp white teeth, and replied smoothly that in that case we had found our quarry. Gesturing to the hounds milling at the edge of the camp, he said that Lady Vexalia’s lost men were now amongst their number, transformed into beasts and compelled to serve the hunt for all time. He had, he said, come upon them close to where we ourselves had entered the fae realm. They had been badly injured and almost helpless following their own encounter with the savagers. As was his practice when encountering strangers, he offered them the choice between becoming prey, which would in this case have been a certain death sentence, and joining his ranks as hounds, offering their eternal souls as chattel. To their great shame, and against all sense, they had all four agreed to sell themselves, losing the priceless treasure of their souls and their hope of life eternal in the celestial realm in exchange only for the petty gain of continuing to draw breath here, deprived of all reason and honour. I would have expected better of those in Lady Vexalia's service.
By this point it was obvious what would come next. The Lord made the same offer to us, to die at the hands of himself and his followers, or to become eternal slaves. I stared at him coldly as he spoke, even to make such a suggestion to Simeon or to myself was an insult to the gods to whom true service is owed. I was angry at his words, but I fought to suppress that unworthy emotion and to behave with dignity, as befits a sworn knight of the church.
Stalling for time, Enessa and Raphael asked him about his current quarry and he told us readily enough that he sought a giant named Cachalain and his followers. This giant, a Fomorian (I am still unsure whether this name is a racial or a factional description), had entered the faewild from the underdark, and was causing damage to the land. At some point during this exchange, Sabali had finally mustered the energy to join us by the fire, and he spoke up at that, betting the Lord of the Hunt that we could take down this Cachalain before he did. Characteristically, I’m not sure whether Sabali had even heard the description of who or what Cachalain was before he spoke, but he made the boast with a good degree of chutzpah nonetheless and the Lord actually seemed rather entertained by the idea.
If we could indeed best the Fomorian, so he said, then he would let us go free, even sending those four unfortunates of Lady Vexalia’s guard back with us, but if we failed, them we would all willingly join his hunt, as either hunters or hounds, as he saw fit. My eyes met Raphael’s and I could see that for once we were in perfect accord. Such a deal was never going to be acceptable to either of us. Death was by far the preferable outcome if it came to that. Zeni too was shifting very uneasily in her seat, I doubt that she would willingly become enslaved again, not for any price at all. Sensing our discomfort the Lord of the Hunt graciously allowed us time to confer amongst ourselves.
The discussion was lengthy, and at points contentious, but in the end we gave the Lord this reply. We would seek out the Fomorian that troubled his realm, and destroy it if we could, in return for which he would let us, and Lady Vexalia’s men, go in peace. Should we fail at our mission, then he would hunt us, and very likely would kill us. However, under no circumstances would we accept service in his troupe. I did not think that he would accept such a thin bargain, but to my surprise he did so quite readily, asking only that Enessa step aside and speak further with him.
The walked a little way away together, the Lord speaking low and Enessa looking thoughtful, and then excited, almost eager. Returning to the group, she simply shook her head when we asked her what had passed between them, and assured us that the bargain we had struck would be honoured. It was further agreed that we should have a full twenty four hours to complete the task we had committed ourselves to, slaying the giant and returning here to offer the Lord evidence of our victory. We would be allowed to spend the night here in the camp as guests, setting out at first light. Sabali in particular looked greatly relieved at the prospect of night’s rest before we set out again, but I think that we were all grateful for the chance to catch our breath.
The evening passed pleasantly, the evening meal simple but well prepared and the company convivial. I sat up late, listening to the quicksilver playing of the fae musicians, and the strange keening melodies of their songs. It seemed to me that in that music was contained both the fierce joy of the chase, and the deep pain of mourning for the lives they had left behind. Many of the folk here claimed to have no conscious memory of anything before they joined the Hunt, but in their song the loss was clear in every haunting rise and fall. Bittersweet, wild, and beautiful, heartbreaking in its intensity and yet lovely as the mountains at dawn. I wept to hear it, even as my heart took flight.
No doubt taking pity on the fascination which I was unable to conceal, they invited me to join them, one of the goblins drawing my lyre from its case and placing it in my hands. My first instinct was to demur - despite all my practice over recent months, I know well enough that my playing is still poor. Even were it not, I did not think that I could match their free abandon. After all, the church teaches self control and the mastery of one’s more dangerous emotions, and this was quite the opposite.
Still, they encouraged me, and perhaps it was the wine in my belly which gave me a confidence I would not normally have felt. My fingers on the strings were hesitant and stilted at first, and my voice perhaps wavered a little, but I felt the swell of the company picking up on the essence of my melody and magnifying it, reflecting it back to me as something truer, and more vivid than I had imagined that it could be. As we played on, my own contribution flowed more surely, more freely than I had felt before. It was horribly messy and strewn with errors, but even so I found the music speaking openly and eloquently of hopes and desires that I had barely acknowledged even to myself.
When I finally sought my rest I was not sure whether I was elated or ashamed. Perhaps both at once. I had done something remarkable, and broken or at least begun to crumble, some barrier in my mind. I was sure that I could see more clearly how to weave my own music into power, but for those hours we singers had been entirely self absorbed, and any magic we had wrought had gained its potency only from the revelation of our own pain, or our own secret dreams. Where were the gods in such a thing? Where was duty?
I slept uneasily, and the echoes of strange dreams haunted my mind when I awoke.
Into the Parchwood
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Whitestone continued
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Rescuing Eva / Arrival at Whitestone
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Winters Crest and Simeon Joins
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Ravagers
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Westruun events
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Lodge and Resolution in Westruun (placeholder)
29th Cuersaar
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Fighting in the Vault (Placeholder)
29th Cuersaar
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In which we gain access to the bank, and prepare to storm the vault
29th Cuersaar
We have had a rather busy few days, but I am delighted to report a successful conclusion, at least in terms of our immediate goals. I have had little time to put pen to paper this week, but I will tell you all about how it happened, now that I have the leisure for writing again.
Before things went any further, Arin, Orlando and I visited the Margrave’s office, to alert the authorities as to our intentions regarding the bank. The Margrave herself proved to be out of town at the moment, and so we spoke with one of her officials, a gentleman named Kursk. I was initially wary of trusting him too far, given our suspicions about potential corruption within the administration, but he seemed to be genuine enough. He was most disconcerted to hear our reports of the trouble at the mint, and frankly shocked to learn about Duncan Penneton's duress.
This is a sad state of affairs as regards the government of the city and region, but I understand that they are facing considerable challenges from both the Clasp and from a group of bandits known as the Ravagers, who harass travellers on the road. Incidentally to this conversation, we also picked up details of a bounty on the head of a particularly unpleasant ravager leader, which may be worth following up in due course.
Kursk directed us to speak with Captain Rance, the leader of the Shields, and seek their tacit agreement for any clandestine operation which we might undertake. They declined to engage actively with any of the details,wanting to maintain a plausible deniability should things go poorly. Understandable, I suppose, but I was confident that we had their blessing, and for me at least, that made all the difference as to how confident I was in what we were doing.
That evening we were visited by one of the most extraordinary people I have ever met. When she first came to the Inn, she presented herself as a demure elven noblewoman, rather shy in manner. She asked to speak privately to Arin, and he, looking rather puzzled, ushered her into his room. He conversed with her alone in his chamber for some little while, and when they emerged, he was white-faced and more nervous than I have ever seen him. She was transformed, dropping any pretence and moving now like a warrior, lithe and graceful.
Sabali was still out scouting, but the rest of us were all gathered in the little lounge of the inn, and she indicated her desire to speak with us. I must confess that I was intensely curious about the whole situation.
She explained that she served as an Expositor of the Cobalt Soul, a title which I later learned implies both religious fervour, and a skill in covert dealing. A commitment, I suppose one might say, to rooting out evil by less conventional methods than by using the explicit legal structures. Given the woeful state of those institutions here, I can well understand the need for such action. Of course, directed by any hand but that of a just church, such persons could very well be a serious danger in themselves. The Cobalt Soul though, no doubt requires the highest standards of probity from any operative.
This expositor, who I shall henceforth refer to simply as D, just in case any unfriendly person should read these letters, said that she wished to offer us her assistance in our current endeavour. This was welcome news, but even so, her visit was not without incident. I don’t know what was said in private, but Arin was clearly shaken. Her attitude was at best brusque, and could reasonably be described as rude. Predictably, neither Enessa nor Raphael responded well to this. Words were exchanged, and then, eventually losing her patience, D went so far as to physically restrain Raphael, her hand tight on his throat. No-one intervened, although Enessa would clearly have liked to do so. It was a tense moment, but I judged that the attack was not in earnest, and, in any case, I don’t know how much we could realistically have done. I suspect too, that Arin would have defended her ahead of Raphael had it come to that. It would have been his duty, after all. Wisely though, Raphael chose not to resist, and the situation calmed down quickly enough.
D has a haughty manner, and is clearly very conscious of her own status and power - watching her and Raphael together was rather like seeing two cats in a box puffed up and hissing at one another. She told us repeatedly that we, save perhaps for Arin, were essentially so inconsequential as to be almost beneath her notice. No doubt she knows of what she speaks, and yet to be so easily provoked by such minnows is not ideal for one in her position.
She could be a very valuable ally for us, particularly against the likes of the Clasp and the Myriad, but her apparent instability makes me wary of depending on her too much. Her hardness seems rather brittle, and perhaps working in the shadows inevitably has that effect on a person. At the end of the day, if she is going to react that way every time Raphael behaves like himself, then not much else is going to get done.
Although D and Enessa initially also exchanged some sharp words, I could see that they were speaking in a friendly enough way later, and strangely I think that the two may have quite a lot in common. I hope so - D’s faith may not be quite the same as ours, but Ioun is a worthy mistress, and I think that D’s friendship can only draw Enessa to the light. Indeed, I could learn certainly a good deal from her myself, about how to serve justice swiftly and efficiently in these messy and ill-governed lands. Methods that might not be appropriate for Vasselhiem may prove indispensable here.
For the immediate term, D gave us some very valuable intelligence about the layout of the bank, and also offered to lead us on an undercover reconnaissance mission to scout it further. It was agreed that Raphael would pose as a visiting Lord seeking a place to store his valuables. He would be introduced to the bank by D in her noblewoman guise and I would accompany them as the bodyguard to this gentleman, with the aim of assessing to what extent the bank staff were in on the plot, and trying to gauge the extent of any magical defences there.
We spent Sunday making our various preparations, I obtained a suitable disguise, and also met with Ranse, who was accompanied by D, this time posing as his aide-de-camp. Ranse struck me as trustworthy, although perhaps somewhat more disinclined to action than might have been hoped from one in their position. Although they declined to offer any direct assistance, I think they were glad to see that measures were being taken.
Our visit to the bank proved to be a productive one, with D vouching for Raphael, who posed as a Lord Jeremy Hightower. My role as bodyguard passed largely without question, as such persons often do here. We learned a good deal about the security systems in place and more importantly we met Nilesh, the de facto manager of the bank in the absence of the Pennetons. He was clearly very afraid of whatever was happening on the lower levels, but I also sensed an untapped well of courage in him. Alone, he was helpless in the face of whatever threats had been made, but I was sure that, approached in the right way, and with the promise of support, he would find the strength to resist what was happening.
He clearly cared very much for Thomas Penneton, for the staff of the bank, and for his duty towards its depositors. I hoped very much that we would ultimately be able to persuade him to co-operate with us - it would be much better all round if we did not need to use violence against this already deeply traumatised civilian. After all, the accidental death of an innocent bank employee would see any victory we achieved here turn to ash, regardless of any other outcome.
We made arrangements to come back later, just before closing time, to deposit Lord Hightower’s excess wealth. Overall, the scouting had gone smoothly and I think even D was pleased.
While we were out, the others had also been busy. Orlando had, using the facilities of the Cobalt Soul, managed to isolate the ingredient being used to bulk out the counterfeit coins - it turned out to be a crystal called Calthian. This was vital evidence which we cold bring to the Margrave in due course. Sabali and Arin had worked on brewing some potent sleep potions which would be invaluable should we need to get past honest guardsmen.
I made the case for attempting to persuade Nilesh to assist us in accessing the lower levels, and it was agreed that we would try, although if necessary then we would have to subdue him and take his keys by force.
As arranged, Raphael and I, now accompanied by Zeni, posing as another of Lord Hightower's servants, returned to the bank just as its doors were closing to the general public. We were shown without delay to the deposit room which we had visited earlier, and there, the door closed firmly behind us, I laid our cards on the table. I had, of course, prayed for Bahamut’s strength to guide my words, but I was surprised to feel the extent of his power rising in me as I spoke. The reflective surfaces in the room began to turn a rich gold, and looking down, I could see the skin of my hands warm with radiance. Both Zeni and Raphael were looking at me with wide eyes, and I had no doubt that a distinct and visible halo was forming over my hair.
Normally I would have felt very awkward about any such manifestation and indeed, I think that I did falter for a moment, doubting my worthiness for such a gift. Then I saw Zeni nod encouragingly, and, seeing the openness in her normally cynical expression, I resolved not to question the wisdom of the gods, but simply to use whatever power I had been granted. With that divine grace filling the room, Nilesh found the courage to do the right thing. It took every ounce of his strength, but he can look back on this day and be proud.
With a shaking voice, he told us what had happened. Thomas Penneton had got himself into debt (we later discovered this was, outrageously, given the situation, a debt to the Clasp itself), and the Myriad had offered him assistance with it. That deal had in some way gone wrong, Thomas had attempted, too late, to withdraw, and the consequences had been deadly. Two guards had been killed, and Thomas himself was gravely wounded and imprisoned in the lower levels of the bank. Nilesh hoped that he still lived, but could not be sure.
Persuaded that we would have at least a chance of tackling the situation without costing Thomas’s life, he agreed to allow the rest of the party entrance to the bank, and to give us the means to access the lower floor. Whatever was below, he said, was large and evil, and able to change its form. That sounded ominous, but none of us really knew what to make of it.
Before our descent to face whatever evil was below, Nilesh took us to examine the mint itself, and there Arin discovered the evidence that we needed in the log books of the mint’s operations. While he poured over the lines of figures, I kept a close eye on the piles of coin left carelessly scattered across the tables here - both Zeni and Wind were casting covetous glances every now and again, but I am glad to say that neither of them sullied our good name by attempting to steal from those we had come here to protect.
It was agreed that Nilesh would remain above, and would raise the alarm with Ranse should we fail to return. After all, in that case Thomas would almost certainly be dead. Looking rather green, Nilesh wished us good fortune, and, admirably concerned for the propriety of his business even in this extremity, asked me to ensure than no-one looted the vaults below. He looked uneasily at Wind as he said this, and she flashed him a grin of such convincingly sweet and pure innocence that I had to smile.
Steeling ourselves, we prepared to enter the vault.
A Parting of the Ways
My Dear Alwyn,
I’m sorry for the long silence in these letters, but, unless I am very much mistaken I will be able make it up to you in person very soon - perhaps I may even race this message back across the seas, if fortune favours my journey.
These last three nights I have dreamt that I walking the streets of the Holy City with a clarity and a power that only a prophetic vision holds. I feel the aasimar blood in my veins stirring in anticipation.
Gilmore tells me that there is a message waiting for me at Whitestone, and, while I don’t know the details, I am quite sure it will be an invitation, or a summons, home.
I must confess that I would be overwhelmingly glad to receive such a communication. The past few weeks have been very difficult ones - I will tell you a little now, and then all about it properly when I see you, but I warn you that it’s a sad tale right from the start, and the ending is none too pretty either.
They say that tragedy often follows hot on the heels of triumph, and so it was with us. The sweet relief of our escape from the Erlking, the joyful reunion of the Lord and Lady of Whitestone, and, most of all, my delight at seeing Orlando’s faith blossoming at last, all these are memories I will treasure. After that, everything just… fell apart.
To cut a long story short, Sabali, who I had come to trust with both my life and my honour, turned out to be not at all the man we had believed him to be. The details are very unpleasant, and there is no need to dwell on them, but suffice to say that it became necessary to put aside my status as a Pilgrim of Justice and instead travel as a common knight, in order to avoid any further disgrace to the church from my failure to prevent his ill-considered deeds.
It is a complicated situation, and to what extent Sabali himself should be held fully responsible for his behaviour, given the strange circumstances of his upbringing, is unclear. So much evidence has now been destroyed that I doubt we will ever get entirely to the bottom of what happened, and perhaps that is for the best at this stage.
After the very dramatic events in Whitestone (which perhaps you will have already heard about by the time you read this) and seeking to redeem the shattered honour of our party, we travelled to the place which we thought to be the source of the corruption only to find it almost immediately overwhelmed and then abandoned by some more powerful evil. Of course, that was something of a relief in some ways, but the larger implications are very troubling, and I think it’s fair to say that we left that place with more questions than answers.
There’s far more to tell about all of this as you might imagine, but that would be best done seated in easy chairs before a glowing hearth and with a generous measure of whisky in our glasses. That will be possible soon enough, or so I hope, and then you can hear the whole sorry tale, if you’ve a mind to.
It nearly broke my heart to see things turn out as they did, and I think that I will need a little time before I can shape all this into a tale fit to sing in company. When I do though, you’ll be surprised at some of the new tricks I’ve learned - that trip to the fae realm seems to have opened something up in my music. It’s freer now, wilder certainly (this new style would hardly do to accompany a sermon) but it’s sweeter too, and here’s a longing in it that is expressing something of my spirit that I never really noticed was there before.
I’m beginning to think that music might be more than just a past-time for the long barrack room evenings or the lonely roadside camps - I can swing a sword well enough to defend myself of course, but real power, I think that’s somewhere else. My song can heal someone’s wounds now, or issue a rebuke sharp enough to sting more than an enemy’s pride. I can feel the weave itself shaping and twisting as I play - it’s glorious and terrifying at the same time. The sensation feels nothing like the power that comes from prayer, but at the same time, it also somehow seems like the purest offering I’ve ever made.
I don’t know if that makes any sense, but I hope it won’t be long before I can at least show you what I mean.
The last few weeks have been very hard to get through, I can’t deny it, but now my mind is almost brimming over with happiness at the thought of seeing everyone again, and the idea of sitting down to dinner at the Hall with my family - and seeing how much my nephews and nieces have grown in the past year! - seems like heaven. I know it’s not likely to be for long, but still, nothing refreshes the mind and spirit like home.
I will very much miss the Unbroken of course, but compared to how we all were at that first meeting at the Inn, they are all well able to look out for themselves. We’ve all changed a lot, and grown, and I feel very lucky to have been a part of it all - to see Orlando finally shake off the burden of Kraghammer’s orthodoxy, and discover his own joy in the divine act of creation was beautiful, but others have undergone transformations just as profound in their own way.
I’m sure that Orlando will write and tell me of all the adventures to come (with our letters no doubt crossing and chasing one another along the winding routes of our respective travels). Enessa too, I hope will keep in touch when she is able - we have become close companions and confidants, these last few weeks especially. I’m not sure that she always thinks of herself as a good person, but, of anyone in this group, alongside Orlando at least, I would trust her to make the right call when the chips were down.
My dear friend Wind is leaving the party here too - she will be remaining in Westruun and setting up her own place here. She’s brave enough for questing, no doubt there, but she’s never taken all that kindly to the rougher aspects of adventuring, and I think a life in town will probably suit her tastes better. It’ll be safer too, and I’m glad to know she’s out of harm’s way, especially if I won’t be there to watch her back in combat. Mind you, she’s saved my skin more than once these past months, so maybe I shouldn’t speak so hastily on that front. I don’t know quite what it is about her, but she can always make me smile, whatever else might be going on and I think that everyone in the group will miss her.
She told me before she left that she and Sabali had put a downpayment on that absurdly expensive plate armour from Gardain’s for me. It’s an incredibly generous gift - and no doubt will serve me well for many years to come - but it also makes me wonder exactly how much money does she have stashed away? That girl has an ability to attract coin that I’ve never seen the equal of, and which for my own peace of mind I probably shouldn’t look too closely into.
Anyway, this armour is apparently in a rather vivid and fashionable shade of purple, to replace my normal, and apparently rather boring, silver and white, so no chance of forgetting where that came from.
I’ll miss the others too - it’s been a strange and eventful few months that we’ve shared and I’ve become close to all of them. It’s tempting to stay and see how it all works out, but it’s always been in my blood, that sense of whether or not I’m where I’m meant to be. Back in Drynna, it was so clear to me that we should all travel together, Arin included then of course, but now duty calls me in another direction, and on a different path. I cannot deny that call, and if I’m honest, nor do I want to at this point.
That token which Orlando made us all, with the platinum ring for me, and the gold for Wind, I will always treasure that as a souvenir of an extraordinary time in my life, as I’m sure will Wind. Perhaps one day all of us - Arin too - will be together again - fate works in strange ways, and there is certainly still a sense of destiny yet to be fulfilled about all this.
But for now my thoughts turn to simpler joys - to home, to you and to everyone else that I’ve missed so much this past year, and to being among my brothers and sisters of the faith once again. To raise my voice in song with thousands of others in the nave of the great church and to lose myself in that holy peace is the best healing a heart could wish for.
That message waiting for me in Whitestone is a blessing I would not have presumed to ask for, but it’s one which I will accept with humility and gratitude. Had it been required of me, I would not have shirked my duty for all the world, but the truth is that I just feel utterly wrung out and exhausted by what has happened. The chance to be amongst those I love is as welcome to me just now as cold clean water to a man lost in the desert.
I cannot wait to hug you Alwyn, and to see all my dear friends again, it’s been far too long.
Your most loving friend,
Ceridwen Brightflame
Blood Magic and its Consequences
27th Cuersaar
I am sorry for the long delay between letters - not that it will make too much difference I suppose, since you probably wouldn’t have received one sooner in any case. I will wait to send this anyway, until I have some better news to follow it.
The truth is that I have been hesitant to write because I am sorry to report that I have become mixed up in a most unfortunate and unpleasant set of circumstances. My companion Wind, it turns out is a member, or perhaps former member, I am unsure exactly how it works, of an underworld organisation here which is known as the Clasp. This group apparently maintains discipline among its adherents with a barbaric form of blood magic, in which the person’s blood is taken and then held hostage in order to induce them to commit further acts of crime, or to control them in other ways.
This disgraceful practice will, of course, need to be eliminated, and every one of its practitioners brought to either justice or repentance. I understand that, but I do not yet have the strength to even begin to tackle the problem. This organisation, from what I have been told, is large and well established. It will take time, perhaps many years, and a formidable force of arms, but I shall see it done. To corrupt another by duress in this way is a terrible sin, and I will not see it go unpunished. If they will not change this practice, then every one of them will be brought to account.
For now, the immediate problem at hand is that Wind’s blood is in the possession of this faction, and she fears the consequences of that, should she disobey their orders. What they desire, or so they claim, is evidence that a rival group of criminals are counterfeiting coins via a privately owned (if you can believe such a thing) mint in the city of Westruun. They claim to wish to see this operation cease, as I am sure would the authorities, should they learn about it. Although apparently their attempts to blow the whistle have so far been ignored.
We have therefore travelled on to Westruun to investigate the matter further. After all, if such an allegation is substantiated, as it appears in fact to be, then the authorities will need to deal with the matter and the sooner the better. Wind has hopes that if she does as they wish then they will release her blood. It seems unlikely, but I pray that she is correct in this assumption. It will certainly be easier to deal with the larger problem without this ongoing complication in the mix.
The situation in Westruun is, to say the least, very confusing and difficult to navigate. The criminal who gave Wind her instructions, a man who calls himself Draygon, insinuated that some individual or individuals within the regional government of Westruun may be in the pay of the rival criminal organisation, or may at least be subject to their power in some form. The Margrave herself, leader of this city, is not in residence at present, and in her absence it is hard to know to what extent her staff members may be trusted with information.
We don’t want to alert the rival gang to our involvement if at all possible, because it appears, from the information we have currently, that they have at least two persons held hostage at present - the owner of the mint, one Lord Duncan Pennerton, and his adult son, Thomas. Although whether or not either or both of these persons are in fact working for the gang, under duress or willingly, is also not entirely clear. What is obvious is that these thugs are certainly in a position to take any number of additional hostages amongst the workers at the mint, or indeed the populus at large, should they choose to do so, and so we must tread carefully.
I’m sure you can imagine how much I detest all this sneaking around. I have spent as much time as possible in the church here in town, and prayer gives me some peace. I would very much like to extricate Wind from this predicament if we can, but the idea of furthering the aims of this faction of blood witches makes my stomach turn. There is in any case a problem at the mint which needs to be exposed, so that part at least should be straightforward. It is what happens after that which troubles me. It seems that Wind can be compelled by these people as long as they have her blood, and that could well turn out to be an indefinite problem. At least until I have dealt with whoever is ultimately responsible for this black magic, and I do not underestimate the scale of that task.
What we cannot do is justify a cost in lives here. At the end of the day, Wind is only one person, and she has entered into this filthy bargain at least semi-willingly, so far as I can tell from what she has said about it. I would do a lot to help her - give my own life, if needs be - but I will not trade the lives of innocent bystanders for her freedom, and she should not ask that of any one of us. Although, I do think that some within the party would perhaps do it, were the choice pressed upon them. One can see how easily the tendrils of corruption creep outwards through these means - the evil that one person may be tempted to do from direct fear of this blood magic, many others may also commit because they care for a friend and would not see her suffer. That suffering is instead visited on the friends and families of those who are caught up in the crossfire. The spreading foulness of this practice is laid bare for all to see.
I need to begin to formulate a strategy to deal with this. It will take more than the cleansing power of holy fire I think. Allies will be required, and influence. In time I must learn both how to chivvy weak and ineffective governments, and also how to hunt these villains to their hideouts when action by the proper authorities is not forthcoming. I will take pains to show them the true path, and offer them the chance to walk once again in honour, but those that persist in this wickedness must learn to fear the consequences. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I left the Holy City, but it seems that it is what needs to be done.
I am sorry to bring only such grim tidings. I wish that I had lighter news to report, for Westruun is a pleasant enough town in which to spend some time, and the inn at which we are staying is comfortable and welcoming. Orlando is making some progress on that silencer for Bayou and Enessa delights in telling tales in the taproom. In better times, it could be a merry place.
We had a somewhat ill-fated foray into the local woods a few days ago seeking more information (don’t even get me started on that misbegotten charade) but along the way we encountered some rather interesting flying beasts which at some point I would like to learn more about. Enessa named them amphitere, and I have seen nothing like them before. They really were a handful, and for a few minutes it looked rather as though they might get the better of us, but Sabali demonstrated some very quick thinking and repeatedly leaped from the upper branches of trees to bring them down to where the rest of us could strike. I hate to say it, but that fight is probably the most enjoyable thing that has happened for the past couple of weeks. To be honest - it was good to just have an uncomplicated goal for once, even if that was our own survival.
I am out of my depth here at the moment, and it shows. Having a good honest fight was a momentary comfort, no doubt, but it seems that I need to learn how to do more than just hit things with my sword, and I need to do it quickly.
In which Queen Mab makes her presence felt
15th Cuersaar
My Dear Alwyn,
I still have not made plans for where I will travel next, but for now, we all remain in Drynna. That has given me the opportunity to spend a bit more time with Rebur, and try to learn more from him about the nature of the bardic arts. Over the past few weeks I have more and more had the sense that there is magic there to be drawn out, but I haven’t ever been able to sustain it for more than a moment. I hesitate to impose on Rebur, but I think that he enjoys demonstrating, and certainly he makes it look easy. It is all very unfamiliar to me though, and I have yet to grasp even the basic knack of it. The opportunity just to practice is a very welcome one though, and it has been a restful few days, all in all.
As I mentioned that I was planning to do, I asked Marten Loriette to visit Althia, and he said that he would do so, and take his young daughter Elspeth along as well. She is a lovely child - she has been assisting Father Pickleknot to care for the sick at the Light Temple - and I am sure that hearing first hand from her about how much the medicines she sent have helped will be a comfort.
Zeni and Enessa have spent a good deal of time with the villagers, offering what assistance they can in getting people back on their feet - the council here did settle some money on them, enough for a few weeks I should think, but for those without friends or relatives to assist them, it’s not much. I don’t think that the idea of a new settlement is likely now to come to anything, but they do still share a bond, and I hope that they will look out for one another in the weeks and months to come.
Orlando has been spending time with Sprocksmith, whose leg, I am glad to report, is on the mend. Between them they have constructed a fine new metal hand for Orlando to replace the one mangled by the croc, and they seem to have about a hundred ideas for how to improve on it as well, once they have the time and the resources available. It’s good to see them both so excited by a new project, and I’m rather looking forward to discovering what the end result might be.
Arin has been working hard for several days now, brewing potions from some of the plants gathered in the swamplands or retrieved from Barithia’s stock. Sabali spent some time with him earlier in the week, restocking that strange healer’s kit he carries I would imagine, but since then he has been otherwise engaged. Some of the time he has been off in town, spending time down by the docks, or so Wind tells me at any rate. Otherwise he has been amusing himself by driving everyone else a little crazy. It’s harmless enough, and all in good sport, but if I were him I might be a little more careful what happens to Orlando’s hat in future.
Wind and Raphael have been away most of the week too, off in town on business of their own. I’m quite sure that Wind has been getting into some sort of mischief, but what sort exactly I can’t say.
If you have noticed the date of this letter, then you will recall I think that only a few days ago it was rhe Night of Ascension. Out here it is nothing like in Vasselheim of course - in fact you would hardly know it from any other day for the most part - but to my surprise, Raphael invited us to witness his personal observance of the festival out in forest beyond the boundary of the town. I was, to be honest, rather reluctant to go for a number of reasons, but Orlando was curious to see it, and I was not about to allow him to walk into a potentially dangerous situation alone. In the end, we all agreed to go, although Wind did not look particularly thrilled about spending yet another night out in the elements.
We set off from the inn in the late evening. It was full dark by then, and the night was almost moonless, making the forest gloomy and sombre. We walked quickly and quietly, keeping close together as we followed Raphael to some spot he was apparently already familiar with. As we went, we could hear the harsh screeches of owls hunting, and the occasional rustle of animals in the undergrowth, but no one seemed to feel much like talking. The Night of Ascension is a holy time, certainly, but most of the rituals associated with it can be eerie and unsettling. As we made our way deeper into the woods, everyone could feel the strange energy of the Night I think, even those who had no understanding of why it should be so.
Coming at length to a small clearing, Raphael called a halt, and, reverently, he laid out his stones in a broad circle on the ground. Before he placed the final one, he explained to us that he was attempting to summon Queen Mab, and that if she chose to appear, he asked that we should please treat her with the respect due her station. He seemed a little nervous, as well he might, but also, I thought, rather proud of what he was able to do here. Understandably, I suppose, to have a Queen come at your invitation is no small thing.
After placing the last stone, he turned and sat cross legged on the ground with his eyes closed, while the rest of us stood around in a sort of semi-circle towards the edge of the clearing, wondering what, if anything, might be about to happen. Raphael spoke some words aloud in Sylvan, and we all waited with baited breath. No-one really knew what to expect I don’t think - certainly I did not - but the atmosphere was tense with anticipation. I muttered a quiet prayer of protection, just in case there was to be any trouble.
I’m not sure how long we all remained that way, but probably only a few minutes. The rushing sound of the wind in the trees was hard to ignore now that we ourselves were still, and as we waited I anxiously scanned the dark spaces across the clearing for any sign of movement. I imagine at least some of the others were doing the same, but a few paces away from me I could hear Wind tapping her foot impatiently.
At least as far as things go out here, the night was considered a chill one, and people were dressed accordingly. I myself had a warm cloak over my mail shirt, and yet even so I gradually found myself growing uncomfortably cold. My breath was visible in the air before me, and, looking down, I saw that frost glittered on the grass and on the stones of the ring of stones. I noticed at the same time that the sound of the wind had died to nothing, and the night air was now very still indeed.
Somehow, between one breath and the next, and with no-one later able to describe exactly how it happened, Mab appeared in the circle. She was a most remarkable sight - possessed, just as Raphael had said, of an unearthly beauty. She appeared as an elven woman, her face neither young nor old, but somehow ageless, with very pale skin and hair like moonlight. Her gown was simple and elegant, and she went barefoot on the now frozen ground. Her power too, was obvious and undeniable. All in all, she was quite unlike anything I had seen before, or had even imagined might exist.
Raphael, clearly sensing her presence, came first to one knee, and then, at her nod, to his feet and stood before her, waiting, head bowed. The frost, which had been creeping over the stones, had by now spread throughout the clearing, turning the ground a thick sparkling white, and riming the leaves of the trees at its edge. It was a truly lovely picture, and very much like something brought to life out of a bard’s tale, but I was still very much on my guard. After all, stories are partly there to warn us that many foul things can and do seem beautiful at first glance, especially in those tales which involve the fae.
Mab spoke then, in a voice which was deep and melodious, naming Raphael as her knight, and sweeping her eyes over the rest of us in turn. Most people seemed a little stunned, but Orlando removed his hat and sketched a courtly bow - a very gallant gesture indeed, given the way the temperature had fallen. I inclined my head in greeting as she looked at me, and tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. This was Raphael’s sacred rite after all, and I had no wish to disturb it in any way, whatever I might think of things.
Raphael invoked the blessings of the sacred night, and then thanked Mab for the information which she had provided about the mysterious stone which we had taken from Barithia. She replied that the outcome in that case was not one that anyone would have wished, but that, in her view, we had dealt with the matter well.
Now, what to make of that, I’m not sure. In truth it is hard even to speculate about what she might have regarded as a more optimal conclusion. The idea that she had been watching us was not a very pleasant one however.
Looking toward the rest of us again, Mab said that she would allow three questions, if we wished to ask any. People shuffled awkwardly at that and I resolved to keep my peace - although there were of course several matters which I was very curious about, none of my questions were very tactful ones, and I did not want to do anything to upset Raphael's observance of his holy day.
Wind, determined, I think, to show that she was not afraid, started to babble some nonsense queries and for a moment everyone just stared at her in disbelief. Raphael’s eyes went a little wider with alarm as Mab, the gracious smile on her face now rather fixed, raised one eyebrow at him. He swiftly turned his back on Wind, and spoke to Sabali, inviting him to ask about Captain Drakkar, the pirate who had abducted him and Zeni.
Sabali did indeed begin to broach the subject, but his questions were not terribly clear ones, and instead of answering, Mab somehow deflected the conversation onto the topic of the Shade Temple, where Sabali had trained until quite recently. The Temple’s goals, she said, were often aligned with those of Winter, by which I took her to mean those of the Raven Queen’s adherents. Neatly sidestepping a question about what those goals might be, Mab seemed to grow somewhat impatient with this line of enquiry. I thought that perhaps she would leave then, but instead she did the absolute last thing that I expected.
Stepping from the circle, she moved toward the opposite side of the clearing, and then turned back and, with great courtesy, invited me to walk with her. Not the group, just me. My heart was thumping a bit at that, but I knew well enough that if she had intended to threaten me then she could do it just as easily right then and there, and there wouldn’t be thing anyone could do to stop her. I had no desire to get involved in whatever this was about, but it would have been very rude to refuse her, and so, with some trepidation I followed her into the darkness of the trees. I could still see the others back in the clearing, and I assume that they could still see me which was reassuring, but I think that we were far enough away to speak privately.
This close to her, I could feel more strongly the impact of her presence. The air was icy cold, almost painful to breathe, but at the same time it was somehow potent and invigorating, as a cold clear day in the mountains often is. She and I were almost of a height, at least in the form which she had chosen for this meeting, and she met my eyes with what appeared to be a disarming frankness. I waited for her to speak, and when she did so her voice was soft and courtly. She knew who I was - my church name at least - and she told me with a rather enigmatic smile that the trace of divinity she sensed in my blood intrigued her. Flattering as this might have seemed, it was not welcome news - I had no wish to come to her particular attention and to be frank, I don’t think any sensible person would desire such an interest.
She asked me if I was aware that the fae cannot lie - now, at the time, I was not sure of that at all, but I have since checked with Arin and apparently this is indeed the case. Which makes the rest of what she said very interesting, but also difficult to interpret in places, carefully phrased as it was.
We spoke for a few minutes then about the nature of lies, and also about good and evil, as it might apply to the fae in general, and Mab in particular. Although I had not asked, she was at pains to tell me that she did not regard herself as bound by the ‘mortal rules’ of morality. She almost, but not quite as far as I recall, went so far as to say that she did not believe that good and evil actually existed in relation to her actions. Following hot on the heels of a digression about the biggest lies being the ones people tell themselves, I found this a very curious choice of topic - there can be few more significant self deceptions than that one, after all. I did not say as much to Mab though, for she is no fool and I do not, in truth, believe her subject to such an error. My guess is that to give that impression serves her purpose in some way, although what that purpose might be, I have no idea.
Instead, I limited myself merely to observing that all creatures with free will, even the very gods themselves, must face the reality of that choice. Her power might mean that she is free to act without obvious or immediate consequence, but such indifference would do nothing to actually change the substance or meaning of what had occurred. We agreed to disagree on this subject, she smilingly dismissing my arguments as dogma, which they are, of course, but no less true for that. Her power might be great, but even Bahamut’s reach does not stretch quite so far as that.
Arguing metaphysics with a fairy queen was not how I had expected the day to go, I will confess.
After all, if Mab had wanted to debate philosophy then there were certainly far more qualified scholars of that art than myself, and I felt confident that this was not why she had chosen to speak with me. Sure enough, glancing back toward the clearing where the others still stood, she asked me about Raphael. Had I qualms about him, or with his lack of openness for instance? This was very awkward, but I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. No-one wants to be lied to, I replied carefully, but I could understand why his tale was not one he would want to share at first meeting. I really felt for Raphael at this point - I don’t know what he had hoped for from this evening, but I strongly suspect that it was not this. Besides, if I had qualms, they were far more about Mab herself. I resolved to say as little as possible, and conclude this interview as soon as I could reasonably and politely do so.
However, she seemed somehow to know almost exactly what I was thinking, and, her eyes sharp on mine, she asked me directly whether it was in fact her that I had doubts about. Conscious both of Raphael’s request that we be respectful, and also of just how far out of my depth I really was here, I was wary about answering this question frankly. I got the impression however, that she had asked it because she wanted an honest answer, and that she would be more displeased by evasion than by the truth. So, I met her gaze as calmly as I could, and I said that yes, I did have concerns, based on the tale that Raphael had told, which I recounted very briefly, and which she at least did not immediately contradict.
I told her what I thought, that swearing a man to one’s service when he has no choice in the matter, either through magic or by physical necessity, is not an honourable course. I tried to phrase it as respectfully as I could, stressing that I may not be in possession of all the facts, but in the end, it is a serious accusation that is hard to sugar coat.
To my relief, when she replied, she was still calm and conversational. In fact, she seemed almost pleased by my concern for Raphael’s interests and welfare, even if the threat I anticipated was herself.
She told me then more of that tale than Raphael had done, and perhaps rather more than he knows of it himself. What she said did allay some of my most serious concerns, but it raised a host of other questions. It also made me think that a couple of details of Raphael's story which I had previously dismissed because they sounded so absurd and hyperbolic, might actually have some substance to them.
Mab admitted readily enough to requiring an oath when the only other option Raphael had was to die of cold alone in the Frostweald. She clearly regarded that choice as a meaningfully free one, and so in a limited sense, I would concede that it was, if mind magic was not involved. Or it would have been, if not for the loss of memory, which complicates matters in ways I have yet to fully think through. Coercion of this sort, so she said, is routinely used by the fae, which is a disturbing thing to learn but not terribly surprising I suppose, given all the tales of the fair folk and their ways.
What she did say, quite categorically, was that she had not used a charm to bend his mind in securing his oath, nor had she herself created the conditions which had led to him being out there alone and defenceless in the first place. In fact, she said that she did not know how it had come about.
Of course I still don’t like it, it is degrading to both parties to take a man’s oath under such circumstances. But, it is certainly true that there is a difference between that and outright compulsion.
The other parts of the story which she told were, if anything, even more curious. She said that she had been ‘called by the entity known as Frostweaver’ to the Frostweald where she had found a man, half crazed and starving, crawling from a snowy grave. Frostweaver had directed her attention to this man, and she had recognised in him some sort of potential (although potential for what she did not say). She had presented him with the sword, not on her own initiative in fact, as Raphael had told it, but at the request of the sword-entity, and had then sworn him as her knight.
This raises a significant question - what exactly is Frostweaver? Or perhaps I should say who. From this account, it sounds very much like a sentient being of some sort, and presumably quite a powerful one at that, if it is able to call on Mab and have her respond. I know of only a few stories of such sentient swords, but they are generally dark tales, and to my knowledge, not one of them ends well for the sword’s bearer.
Mab seemed rather proud of what Raphael has made of himself since that day - lauding the nobility which he has claimed for himself and made his own with the invented title of Neverwood. I wish I knew what to make of that. I know she cannot lie outright, but nobility is one of those words that means a lot of different things to different people. From someone as removed from ordinary society as her, it could mean almost anything.
I think that she intended sincere praise, but I was rather reluctant to hear a lecture on nobility from someone who would force an oath of service from a dying man, or who speaks of her people merely as instruments in her hand, to be molded or discarded at her will.
Before we concluded, she asked me whether there was aught else that I would know. If so, now was the time to speak. I asked her whether, if Raphael did choose to leave her service, she would let him go. I was interested in the answer to this question for its own sake, of course, but I also asked it because I thought that the answer might tell me something important about which parts of her earlier speech could be taken to carry most weight. I might learn here, for instance, something of what nobility actually entailed for her.
She paused for several seconds before answering, and it felt like a long time after the quicksilver flow of her previous conversation. Then she said carefully that none of her knights had ever before willingly left her service. I was a little reluctant to press her, but this was no sort of answer to the question, and I said so. She smiled at that, and said that she had invited me to ask, not promised that she would answer. At length, she said that if Raphael were to desire to renounce his oath then that would be a conversation that he and she would have together. I could hardly object to that, after all, if the oath was valid, as she clearly took it to be, then honour would dictate that it was a private matter between the two of them. It was more than fair as an answer, and yet it told me very little. It was nicely played, all in all.
Throughout, she had seemed keen that Raphael and I continue to travel together - she wants to make him, so she says, into a scalpel rather than a blunt instrument, and believes that my presence will assist that project in some way. To be frank, I find it hard to imagine how that might be the case. The problem, although I did not tell her this, is that he will neither trust me, nor behave in such a way that I can trust him. He tells lies without consulting or even informing the rest of us, and that really makes things impossible. At some point when I have more time I will tell you what happened with Barithia's journal in the end.
I said nothing about any of this to Mab, but if Raphael intends to continue to sharpen the edge of his deceptions on me, then I will have to take steps to prevent things from going too much further. I have no interest in that sort of arrangement. Whatever this is about, she will have to find someone else to use as the whetstone for her blade. I have not the patience for it.
I was conscious that thus far Mab had been both generous with her time, and forbearing about my very limited understanding of the situation. Once it was clear that she had nothing further that she wished to say, I thanked her, as formally as I could without knowledge of her rites, for sharing her holy night with us, and for taking the time to speak with me. To my surprise, I discovered that I meant those thanks genuinely, rather than simply as a gesture of politeness. As she had led me away from the others, I had been prepared for several possible outcomes, ranging from the merely tense to the outright fatal, but not really for the fact that I had rather enjoyed our conversation.
Mab is unnerving, certainly, and her power greater and stranger than anything I have encountered before, but even so I found that, against all my expectations and better judgement, I actually rather warmed to her. It seems like an odd thing to say I know, and it’s hard to explain why - perhaps simply more of an instinct perhaps than anything else. When she said that she had no quarrel with Bahamut, nor he with her, I believed her.
Returning to the clearing, and seeing the rather worried faces of my companions, I smiled to reassure them that all was well. Mab placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder and drew him off into the trees, this time walking much further in until they disappeared entirely from sight. We all waited rather uncertainly at the edge of the treeline, but it was only a few minutes before Raphael returned alone. Little time seemed to have passed, but then I recalled that in the swamp he claimed to have had an entire conversation with Mab in what had seemed to us to be the blink of an eye, so who knows how it had been from their perspective.
As we made our way back towards the inn people were chatting excitedly about what they had seen. It was as though the sudden release of tension required expression, and certainly what we had seen was well worth talking about. Raphael and I both walked in silence though, and he seemed to be as reflective and inward looking as I felt myself. I hoped that he did not regret bringing us to share in the honour of his sacred night - it was a very odd experience, to be sure, but, looking back at least, it was not one that I would have wanted to miss.
In which shadows of the past loom large
9th of Cuersaar 835PD
Well, I said that I would write again, before I posted this bundle of letters, and so here it is. It is rather longer than I had anticipated, but I hope you will forgive my rambling. Putting my thoughts down on paper always helps me to get them straight in my own mind.
After our visit to the Lodge, and before we made any decisions about Althia, we tried to find out as much relevant information as possible. Arin, Raphael and I went to the Light Temple to see Father Pickleknot who had been responsible for distributing the medication which Althia had prepared, while Wind and Enessa went to visit Elder Albrich, who had served on the council at the time of the dragon attacks. Both conversations largely confirmed what we had suspected from speaking with Loriette - that the medications which Althia had supplied had been effective in treating the symptoms of the disease, if not its cause, and that some sort of deal had indeed been done with the hags at the time of the dragon attacks.
After that, we went to see Althia herself, to determine what course of action would be best to follow from this point. Some in the party were still nervous about how potentially hostile she might become, and Orlando had spent the hour or so when I was at the temple crafting special bullets which he thought might be more effective against the fae than the regular variety.
On the positive side, this encounter did not in fact end in violence, but even so, as you can imagine, it was a very difficult and distressing conversation. We brought news of the death of Althia’s two sisters after all, and of their descent into madness. Seleena’s fate in particular was a terrible one, and much worse even than Althia had feared, I think. She had been long estranged from them both, but even so, they were her kin and her grief was painful to witness.
She was gracious enough as we asked our questions, and in brief, this is the tale she told us - at the time of the dragon attacks the three sisters had volunteered to help the town (although Althia was adamant that there was no formal deal in place, merely an offer made from good will). They were successful in their efforts, using some sort of glamour to make the town less noticeable and so avoid attack. However, in the performance of this magic, their hag forms could not be disguised - some members of the council were present, they saw what happened, and, once the danger was passed, had made them feel so unwelcome that they left the town, and settled instead in the Rootgarden.
There, Barithia and Seleena had remained, living alone for many years and growing ever more angry and resentful. In contrast, after a relatively short time, Althia had returned to Drynna, settling back where she lives now, and serving the town faithfully as apothecary. Those few who knew her true nature had apparently been willing to turn a blind eye. As a result of this separation, she had neither seen nor heard from her sisters in many years. When the swamp fever had come to her attention, she had guessed that they might be behind it, but she had had no certain knowledge either way, and had said nothing to anyone about her suspicions.
The reaction of our little party to this story (which I believe to be the truth), was very mixed. Far more so than I might have expected. With the notable and voluble exception of Enessa, and more quietly perhaps also Arin and Orlando, I was rather taken aback at the lack of empathy for a person who was very obviously suffering. Some of them, Zeni in particular, blamed her for not coming forward to accuse her sisters when she had first suspected their involvement. Up to a point, I can understand that instinct, especially since we ourselves faced dangers which might perhaps have been avoided had we been forewarned. The truth though, is that any such moral requirement would produce something closer to tyranny than justice. To be obliged to report every suspicion of friends or family, under pain of being considered complicit if you did not - what sort of society would that be? And what if she had been wrong in her supposition? What might have happened to her sisters then?
Althia herself clearly feels a heavy weight of guilt for her silence, although I think that if she had spoken, then she would be feeling just as culpable for the act as for the omission. It was not a situation where any choice would have been an easy one to live with.
I don’t like it that Althia is alone out here - her sisters fell to madness, and grief is a storm whose onslaught can unmoor even the strongest foundations. Against it’s chaos, even the relatively comprehensible pain of guilt can seem like a comfort, although in truth it is a poison to the mind and the spirit.
She said how much she values the friendship of the councilman, Loriette. Indeed that was one of the reasons that she offered for not wishing to leave Drynna and start anew. If I get the chance, I will tell him that she has suffered a family bereavement, and ask him to call on her. Her appearance is somewhat altered now (to lessen the chances of recognition by the people of Bel), but grief could easily explain such changes. A reminder of how much she means to this town, and hearing from her friend directly how much her medicines have helped people, may be as good a remedy as can be hoped for at present.
Although I think that by the time we left things were at an acceptable point, it was a tense and uncomfortable conversation for the most part. Raphael, who, by prior agreement, did much of the talking, was unusually cold and unfeeling, to the point that at times it seemed cruel. I have not seen him like that before, and eventually I had to intervene. I doubt that Enessa would have allowed it to continue in any case. I don’t think that he was intending to cause unnecessary pain, but he clearly felt that he had the right to sit in judgement and conducted himself accordingly. It was often a very unpleasant dynamic - at one point Althia refused to speak further to him, saying that if he had come to execute her, then he should just get on with it. That tells you something of his manner.
Zenirith went further still - not only claiming the right to judge, but condemning Althia roundly for her failure to accuse her sisters. As a ruling, it was harsh, and, I think, not very reasonable - although, having now heard a little more of Zeni’s story, I can see why she might be likely to think about justice primarily in terms of punishment.
Althia, for the most part, remained patient and admirably composed under a barrage of questions, insinuations and, finally, grudging pledges of tolerance. It did her credit. I doubt that I would have so much grace in similar circumstances.
All in all, the suspicion and hostility offered a good object lesson in what might happen were the townsfolk at large to learn of her nature. Raphael intends to doctor the scraps of writings recovered from Barithia’s house in order to conceal Althia’s true identity, which she has agreed to. I think it is a sensible precaution, all things considered, and I will gladly explain to the council that in my judgement it was necessary. If they want to take issue with that, then they can do so with me. Based on what I have seen, I am more than satisfied that justice would not be served by the alternative, at this stage at least.
Whether Zeni will be content to hold her peace on the matter, given her attitude to the whole situation, I don’t know, but in truth there is really nothing which I can do about that.
At length, we left Althia to begin brewing more medicines for Dryanna, with the herbs which had been gathered from the Rootgarden. Arin returned later to assist her in her work, which was a very good thing, I think. I hope that the task, and his quiet company, served to sooth her mind. The rest of us retired to the old bandit camp area, and made our own preparations to stay the night - it being too late to return to town.
Zeni, sadly, had returned to Melora’s shrine, and had again dishonoured that holy place by removing coins that had been placed there on our outward journey. Orlando and I, noticing her absence, and fearing some such thing, discovered her there. She seemed deep in thought, and when confronted, she said (and I summarise here), that since Althia was not to be punished for her wrongdoing, was not to ‘learn a lesson’, then there was no reason for her, Zeni, to learn from her own mistakes. That is the flawed logic of a child, and to hear it from someone with the kind of power that Zeni wields was jarring. Whatever she thinks about Althia, it can change nothing about the quality, or the wisdom, of Zeni’s own conduct. I did my best to explain that, but she would not listen, and in the end I replaced the coins myself and offered what prayers I could, asking that Melora pardon this second insult.
The truth is, I doubt that Zeni’s outburst really had anything much to do with Melora, or even with Althia, and instead had everything to do with Zeni herself and her own pain. I just wish that I knew enough about the Wildmother to understand whether she is likely to care about that sort of detail.
Although I did my best to find a suitable form of words, I don’t even know whether Melora regards intercessory prayer as valid - I asked Orlando whether he knew anything of the proper rituals, and what he said about faith requiring an individual commitment made me think perhaps he does know that the Wildmother will not hear prayer on behalf of another. Although, I think that most likely he was just offering his best guess, seeing how troubled I was by what had happened. Faith has never been something he had paid much mind to, in fact I doubt he could even tell you much about most of the public rituals of the Platinum Sanctuary, and he has been there often enough with me. If he ever does find his faith, then it will be a personal thing, I think, and not the community of belief that the Church represents. Of course, each person must encounter the divine in their own way, and I would not grudge anyone their path to God, but I must admit that I find it hard to understand the appeal of that solitary way. We need not stand alone, after all, either in this world or the next. We are what we are by virtue of our connections, our society and family, and our love for one another. Why should Melora not be moved by my care for Zenirith and what might happen to her? The Gods are no strangers to emotion after all, for all their power.
Anyway, I have done what I can there, perhaps it helped, perhaps not. At the end of the day, if Zeni is determined to tempt fate in this way, then I have to accept that it is not something I will be able to prevent.
Gathered again around the fire, we ate a late supper, and talked, mostly of times past. Perhaps it was the witnessing of Althia’s pain which brought to the surface reminders of other struggles, but nearly everyone had a tale to tell, some exposing raw and painful wounds which have not yet even begun to heal. Half the people here are barely into adulthood (back home they would almost be in the schoolroom still), and yet their lives have been hard in ways that neither Orlando or I could reckon with. We both have had our ups and downs, of course, but nothing at all like these bone-deep scars. I exchanged glances with him as they spoke, and I guessed that his thoughts tended the same way as mine. We had been lucky. Blessed, I might say, although he would put it differently I am sure.
One thing that struck me in the wake of speaking with Althia about her sisters, was that most of these accounts had their roots in the loss or disruption of the family. Zeni and Sabali, snatched at a young age and with no memory of their roots, Arin, whose parents’ disappearance had prompted his entry into Ioun’s church, Wind, who avoids even the simplest questions about her family, Enessa, forced to flee her home in circumstances that remain unspoken, and Raphael, who, as I will tell you in due course, has no recollection at all of his people. Orlando’s case is rather different - his family is in Kraghammer, and I’m sure that he could go back there if he chose, and that they would welcome him. And yet, as you yourself will probably have heard from him, he came to Vasselheim as much to escape the weight of their expectations as for any other reason, and I doubt he feels that returning is truly an option. Not yet, at any rate.
Listening to them speak, I thought at first that I myself was truly the exception here. After all, I have not just one, but two loving families. My parents and my brothers, safe at home, and then my sisters and brothers of the faith, all those (like yourself) who have become my second kin, and are as dear to me as my own blood. And yet out here, in truth, I have been very much alone. You will not even read this letter for weeks, and I don’t know when or where your reply might reach me. One thing which I have learned in these months of travel is that such solitude does not suit me. Some thrive on that freedom, but not me, I need people by my side. Travel is a fine thing, and the world is truly full of wonders, but still, it is hard to put into words how much I have missed home this year. It feels like a piece of my heart is gone, not to have the people that I love around me. Perhaps my story shares more in the common theme than I might at first have thought.
In the first letter of this bundle, I tried to give you an impression of my companions, as I first encountered them. Let me do so again, after a month of acquaintance and in light of the tales each told.
I will begin again, as last time, where things are perhaps most straightforward, with my old friend Orlando. It has been so good to have him by my side these last weeks, especially after so many months among strangers. Apart from the pleasure of his company, to have someone that you know for certain that you can count on in any situation just makes everything more straightforward. He remains very much his old self - good humoured, full of wisdom, and endlessly curious - and yet this last month last left its mark on him. I would say that the biggest change is that over the past couple of weeks he has been using Bayou quite openly, and last night he shared with the whole group more of that story than I would have imagined possible in such mixed company. Since Sprocksmith gave him news of Whitestone, and the prevalence of such devices there, it seems to have altered his perspective considerably. I think that he has actually rather enjoyed being able to openly show off his mastery of the weapon these past weeks, and he has done some tricks with it that certainly I had never seen before, or imagined might be possible. Discussing it with Sprocksmith seems to have set off a whole new cascade of ideas as well - it would not surprise me if I soon had news to report of a much improved Bayou, or even perhaps of a successor.
The priest, Arin Veris, I have also come to trust. He is a man of relatively few words, but he does not shirk his duty, even when that duty is difficult or dangerous. His own story, told for the first time last night, is rather a strange one. His parents disappeared when he was still a boy, and then he found Ioun’s Church which offered both solace and shelter. He certainly has a remarkable mind of the sort much beloved by that holy order, although whether by a natural gift or by their training I don’t know - perhaps both. His family were merchants, not normally a calling associated with much danger, and yet both his mother and his father vanished without trace. Not to know what became of them must have been very hard for a young boy , but perhaps the Knowing Mistress, and her passion for unearthing secrets of all kinds, gave him a sense of hope that one day the mystery may be solved.
I still don’t know why he came to Drynna a month ago, or what his plans are next. His order may have business that takes him far off, but perhaps he has the freedom to travel as he will. If we are to continue as a group, as some say that they wish to do, then we really need him with us. When it comes to healing magic, neither my skills nor Enessa’s are likely to be enough, given how quick some members of this party are to place themselves in danger.
On which note, in typical breezy style, as though it were barely worth mentioning, Wind chose last night to tell everyone about her brush with the gang of thugs known here as the Clasp. I knew something about this before, having unwittingly seen off a pair of their messenger boys who had been harassing Wind back in Emon, not long after she and I crossed paths, but I didn't realise that they were still on her trail. That sort of pursuit might explain why she left for Drynna, and would certainly account for her willingness to continue to travel with this party even after we had led her to places where she had repeatedly got wet and/or muddy, and had even, horror of horrors, been asked to sleep on the ground.
Mind you, for all her love of life’s comforts, she is brave and resourceful, and can more than hold her own in a fight. Once Wind has decided that she is on your side, then that is that, and I am very happy to be able to call her a friend. If she still feels, under the circumstances, that she would be safer travelling than remaining here, then I would gladly welcome her company for as long as she wishes it. Her recent, and very surprising, acquisition of magical powers, has after all made camping about a thousand times more pleasant than it usually is. At first, it was quite annoying that she wouldn’t allow me entrance to my own tent until she had worked her cleaning spell on me and on all my gear, but, I must admit, I have got rather used to sleeping quarters that are always dry and clean, and which somehow smell actually pretty good, even in the swamp.
Enessa told us a little more of her own story last night too, and it is one which I must confess I had been very curious to hear. She hails from a place far to the East in Wildemount, called Xhorhas, which I had never heard of before. It means that she is even further from home than I am, although she only left there a few months ago. She didn’t speak much of her home, and not at all about her family, but I got the sense that there was a great deal of heartache associated with those memories. She had had to leave quite suddenly, by the sound of it, and with little to no planning or preparation. Arriving on Tal’Dorei with almost nothing, she was quickly assaulted and robbed of what little she had possessed. Rebur, it seems, had helped her to find her feet again, but she had remained wary of him, and had told him nothing of her origins. She is truly a remarkable young woman, immensely talented with the bow, certainly, but also caring, quick-witted, and (despite what she has been though) as ready to see good in folk as evil. Several times now, I have seen her draw on her own painful experiences, and find a way to transmute them into something which will help someone else. I don’t know if she even realises that she is doing it, but that sort of instinctive generosity of spirit is a rare blessing.
It is Zeni and Sabali who have perhaps had the hardest start in life. Both were captured and enslaved as young children by a pirate captain by the name of Drakkar, and both seem to have endured appalling conditions. They are even now barely adults, and yet they have been through so much already. That sort of hardship leaves its mark, especially on children, and maybe in ways which they themselves are yet to fully appreciate.
Sabali’s young life has certainly been harder than any child should endure, and yet finding the the Shade Temple seems to have been a salvation of sorts. Although he did spend time, even some years perhaps, on Drakkar’s ship, he was sold on to other masters and in due course found his way to the Temple, which is where he learned the martial arts which he has put to such excellent use in combat over the past month. He is a naturally cheerful and optimistic soul, but I think it is probably the teachings of this Temple which have helped him to find balance, and to put what happened to him into some sort of context and perspective.
Zeni, on the other hand, remained with Drakkar until only a few months ago, eventually escaping into the outskirts of the rootgarden and then making her way to Drynna and finding sanctuary at the Eagle's Landing. That is almost an entire lifetime spent aboard a corsair, which is hard to even imagine. Pirate lords are notorious for ruling their people, freefolk and slaves alike, with an iron fist, and it seems very probable that Zeni’s life, until very recently, has been almost entirely ruled by violence, and defined by a sense of powerlessness. Indeed, she herself describes a world of constant abuse and fear. That she found the strength to escape is a sign of how resilient she really is.
She spoke again last night about the mentor who had helped her to take the first steps in discovering her magic, and who had been murdered by Drakkar. She has sworn vengeance against him for that deed, and truly, the man should be brought to justice for his crimes, this included. Her anger though, understandable as it undoubtedly is, is so great that it threatens to overwhelm her. Unlike Sabali, the only framework she has to manage it is the example set by Drakkar himself, and he seems to have governed his people with a harsh and retributive sense of order.
In general terms, anger is one of the most dangerous emotions - even in its most righteous and selfless form it distorts the judgement and clouds the mind. More often it eats away at the person who feels it, making them lash out at any target within reach in an effort to find some relief from its pressures. Seeing Zeni tending the wounded, or watching with quiet satisfaction as people enjoy a meal she has prepared, no-one would doubt her capacity for kindness, but this anger is a darkness which she must find a way to overcome or she risks perpetuating the same unforgiving cruelties which she herself has suffered.
Even Sabali, not usually the voice of moderation in our discussions, cautioned her against the danger of slipping onto an evil path in the quest for retribution. His words on proportionality and the need for the means as well as the ends to meet the test of justice contain wisdom that we would all do well to heed. After all, we have seen these last weeks what happens when resentment and anger are allowed to dominate.
I come now to the most difficult part of this account - the tale told by Raphael. I don’t how much of it to take at face value - some parts were truly fantastical, but I think it is probable that he himself believes at least most of it to be true. I’m going to skip over a number of the more bizarre and unlikely details here, and just give you the heart of the account, and you will see the problem readily enough from that.
In short, Raphael claims that he was given his magical sword by a daughter of the Raven Queen named Mab. She is a fae of some sort, and he refers to her as a Queen, although I don’t know if that is a title she would claim for herself. Whether she is the Raven Queen’s true daughter, or merely a daughter of her church I do not know. This Mab rescued him, although he has almost no memory of what from, or indeed of anything at all before that time. She gave him the sword he now bears (which is named Frostweaver), and she swore him to her service then and there. This was a little more than a year back.
He compared the oath which he gave Mab to my own vow, but when I questioned him on it, it sounded like it contained nothing more than a pledge of obedience to her will. That is far more like the oath of a liegeman to his earthly lord than that sworn by a paladin of any stripe. I tried to explain what a true Oath is, and how it works, but I don’t think that it sank in at all.
Lord Raphael Neverwood, by the way, is not his real name, which he claims not to know. It is an alias, invented on Mab’s instruction, and chosen to give him an easier passage through life. Which would certainly explain some things at least.
Of course, if what he says about not remembering his past before meeting Mab is true, then very likely there are people out there somewhere who are mourning the loss of a son or a brother, perhaps even a father. It is very possible that they are looking for him even now although whether he would want to be found under these circumstances is another matter, of course.
Before I go on, I must acknowledge the possibility that he is merely a sorcerer of some sort who is suffering from a serious disturbance of the mind, and who has somehow got hold of an enchanted sword. To be honest, if it wasn’t for the reactions of Althia and Barithia, to both the sword and the name, then I would be inclined to regard this as the most likely explanation.
It was clear that both hag sisters had heard the name Mab before, and both seemed to regard it as at least plausible that Raphael spoke on her behalf. It’s worth noting that they both regarded the mention of her name as a threat. Althia, when Rapahel showed her the blade, recognised it at once, and referred to him as ‘Mab’s hitman’. An interesting term, that, I know, but the point I want to draw here is that the name Mab had not yet been uttered in that conversation (which had been conducted entirely in common), so this is the best evidence I have that part of this tale bears at least some sort of relationship to reality.
Raphael claims that the shadowy figure which we saw on the way to Bel was Mab, and that she gave him useful information when they spoke. I don’t really see how that could have been the case, but he did share his knowledge of the heartstone soon after that occurred, so perhaps that part may be true as well. He did appear very much disturbed by the incident at the time, although to be fair, no one was exactly happy about being stalked by some mysterious spectre. He refers to Mab as a goddess, but, on balance, that seems unlikely, even on a broad interpretation of that term. I felt nothing of celestial energy that day when we supposedly encountered her in the swamp. But nor, importantly, did I sense a fiendish presence either.
In any case, regardless of these details, the most important thing here is that he has apparently sworn himself her bondsman. That would be a serious commitment in any context, but I am beginning to get a sense of the particular weight which the fae place on all such bargains and arrangements. If he wished to be his own man again, I doubt she would release him easily. At the moment that does not seem to worry him, but it clearly should.
When asked, Raphael claimed that the fae, Mab included, are ‘neither good or evil’ and used this formulation to duck most of Sabali’s pertinent questions about Mab and her likely intentions. Now, on the one hand, this is trivially true - with very, very few exceptions, no creatures are good or evil in their natures, we all choose whether to walk a righteous path or not. If that is what he meant, then, yes, this Mab, whoever she may be, fae or human, queen or pauper, she chooses her path like any other being. If he meant instead that the actions of the fae cannot be evaluated according to normal standards of good or evil, then that is just an absurd suggestion. The moral quality of an action doesn’t change because of the nature of the person who acts.
He also claims that she has so far given him no orders which he would be ashamed to carry out, and for what it’s worth, I think that probably is true. When pressed on what he would do if and when she did require a service that he regarded as unconscionable, he first avoided the question, and then finally he confirmed that he would abide by his oath of service. What else could he say, after all? His word is given.
I’m not such a fool as to not see the implications here, and the risks, but still, I don’t think this case is as straightforward as you might be thinking.
There is a name for those who accept servitude in exchange for power such as that which the sword apparently contains. I know that you are thinking it, and, rest assured, so am I.
Bear with me here, because I think that the question of how she has swayed him to her service is a relevant one. Sabali suggested that it might be a more powerful and subtle version of the charm used by the hags to lure people to Bel, and that seems like a very real possibility. On the other hand, she may simply have found a way to erase his previous memories and then appear before him in all her evident glory, as apparent saviour. That would be a hard sell to resist, even without a charm. Or perhaps she really did save him from some other, unrelated catastrophe. In any of these cases, even the last, to press a man to service under such conditions speaks very poorly of any would-be liege.
The issue now, of course, is what to do from here. I know that common sense would say that to travel with a man so compromised is asking for trouble. Raphael is no longer free to choose his own loyalties, and if Mab required him to betray us, then presumably he would do it. Even if he disliked the idea, I suspect that he would have no choice in the matter. We know nothing at all about her motivations or her allegiances, and so it is impossible to judge from what direction such a betrayal might come. It’s obvious from what I have seen so far that Raphael is good at getting people to see things the way that he wants them to - there is a strong chance that we would not see it coming, and that fact represents a very serious danger to us all.
On the other hand, by his account this bargain, if such it may be called, was pressed upon him under circumstances where it could hardly have been refused. Now, I don’t know if he has been charmed, or tricked, or was simply caught at a moment when he truly had no alternatives, but in the time I have known him, he does not strike me as power hungry or corrupt, in the way that one might normally expect from those who make such compacts. I can just imagine you shaking your head over my naivety at this, but honestly, I don’t think that I am wrong about this. I understand what the church would probably say is happening here - what you would probably say is happening - but he did not not seek out the sword, or Mab, and that makes a difference. I hope it does anyway.
This might be the wrong call, I admit, but I would like us all to stay together, Raphael included. Travelling as a party is certainly far more interesting than travelling alone, and I think that perhaps together we can help one another to heal, and to grow stronger. The fact is that I like all these people, even given Zeni’s spikiness, and Raphael’s slippery relationship with the truth (not to even mention whatever nonsense Wind undoubtedly has brewing), and I would like the chance to get to know them better.
I will post this today, along with the others from my arrival in Drynna onwards. I don’t really know when I will next get a chance to send the next packet, but sooner than in another month I hope. Perhaps from Whitestone if that is indeed where the road next takes me.
For now, I send my love to all those at home. Please hug everyone for me, and pass on what news you can without worrying people unduly.
In which nearly everyone makes it back in one piece
8th of Cuessaar
My Dear Alwyn,
Firstly, allow me to apologise for the rather stream of consciousness flow of the past few letters. Being out in the swamp, I barely had time to do more than note down my impressions of what was happening, and I’m afraid that the courtesy of a proper letter got rather lost. We are now back in Drynna, safe and warm again, and I will endeavour to do better!
This particular missive is made up of all the notes I collected on my way back from Bel, but I will write them up now as one continuous narrative. I’m pleased to say that the journey itself was not so eventful that you would want to read every detail of more than a week’s trek back into town. I’m hoping to be able to post this packet of letters soon, maybe even tomorrow if things work out, so you could, with any luck, actually be reading this in maybe only a few weeks time.
I will resume the tale where I left off last letter - we were in the village of Bel, where we had failed to penetrate the madness which had gripped Barithia, and so we had fought, and she had been killed. The villagers were unhurt, but clearly in shock, and unsure whom to trust. I don’t think that any of them remember actually witnessing the battle, but even so, this must have been a terribly disorienting experience for them all. We decided that it would be best to withdraw to a camp just outside the village limits, and to rest before trying to engage with them about what to do next. We were, after all, still very tired, and they would need as much time to adjust as we could afford to give them.
We slept for a long time, and the sun was high in the sky before everyone was up and about. By the time we had breakfasted, half the morning was gone, but we had badly needed the sleep and so no-one begrudged the time.
As we ate, we discussed among ourselves what should be done next, and it was agreed that we would offer to escort any villagers who wished to return to Drynna. Hopefully that would be all of them. The issue of the leylines which Zeni had sensed earlier remained a concern, but she did some further spellwork and declared that she thought the disruption was fading. This, she said, was good evidence that the curse was lifting now that Barithia had died. I thought that that would be logical, based on what Barithia had said about it being linked to her own life force. Both Sabali and Raphael said that they could sense in some way a lessening of the evil, but I felt nothing really. The swamp seemed to me as dismal and as unprepossessing as it had done for the past three days, but I had never felt that it was exactly evil, just dreary. Still, I was glad to hear that they felt the situation was improving.
Zeni volunteered to remain at the camp and start to pack up our own things. She has always seemed wary of the people of Bel - of almost everyone that we have met for that matter - but I don’t really understand why. I know that Rithuia has been keen to speak to her since we arrived, but she always seems to manage to be elsewhere at the crucial moment. Whatever the reason, she seemed content to allow the villagers to settle their own matters, which was fair enough, I suppose.
We could already hear raised voices coming from the village - a babble of excited conversation, sometimes brimming over into angry words. As we got closer, it appeared that almost every person living there had gathered in the central space between the houses, and that a major argument was ongoing about what to make of all that had happened, and what to do next.
It seemed that Sabali, unnoticed by the rest of us, had sneaked in ahead and seemed to have already done something or other to stir things up somewhat. Returning to the group, he shrugged his shoulders and let us know that they were having some problems deciding what to do. Some wanted to stay, others to leave.
Spotting Rithuia standing quietly at the side of the square, we spoke to her discreetly, asking her about the mood of the village, and the disputes taking place. She explained that the village was indeed divided, with half the people keen to return to Drynna, and half determined to stay on, just as Sabali had reported. She told us that, although the charm was much decreased in its influence, people were still feeling the after effects, and it was making it harder for them to think clearly, causing tempers to thin and arguments to break out. Beyond that, the vision that Barithia (or perhaps more likely Seleena, before her death), had offered had been a genuinely alluring one for many people, charm or no charm. They might have been lied to at the beginning, but that did not mean that the current state of affairs was straightforward.
I explained that we would gladly assist anyone who wanted to leave, but that, of course, those who wished to stay had every right to do so. I hoped that she herself would choose to come with us. Rithuia looked rather downcast at that, and shook her head - too many of the capable hunters and fishers wanted to go, and the chances of a viable community forming from those who wished to remain was very small. Nonetheless, despite the fact that she herself favoured leaving, she would remain if any chose to do so. I nodded at that, as a leader, even an informal one, it would be difficult for her to make any other choice. As she listed the names of those who wanted to go, I could see the problem. They would be left with no healer, and very few craftspeople or hunters. Living in the swamp was hard enough on its own, but when the gnolls were factored in, their chances of survival were almost non-existent.
She said that Oteas was one of the foremost voices advocating for staying in Bel - this surprised me, because from what she had told us of her long and varied life, I would have expected her to embrace change more readily than many others, even despite her age. We agreed to try to speak to her, and see if we could change her mind. Ruithia thought that if we could, then many others would likely follow her lead. Enessa and I went to speak with her, having made at least some connection when we were here two days ago, and I know that others had their own conversations with people who were reluctant to leave.
As well as settling the question of who would leave and who would stay, there was a lot of work to be done in packing up, and so Arin, Zeni and Wind were not so much involved in this business, having more than enough other jobs to keep them busy, but Raphael, Orlando, Enessa, Sabali and I all worked hard to bring as many as we could along, with varying degrees of success.
Before I go on with the tale, I want to take a moment to tell you about the different ways in which we attempted the task at hand. I think that we all drew on those arguments which might best have persuaded ourselves, were we in their shoes, and, when I later came to think on it, it seemed like quite a revealing exercise.
Raphael’s weapon of choice in this battle was a simple one - fear. He emphasised again and again, and in graphic detail, the fate that would likely await anyone who remained there without the protection of Barithia. He did almost nothing to soften the blow, explaining that they had been used by the hags for their own ends, and even showed as evidence the scraps of journal that we had found in Barithia’s home to some of the elven folk who could also read sylvan. He was calm and measured throughout, even when some fool of a boy, angry at hearing unpalatable truths, drew a knife on him. He even spoke about a hierarchy of predation, and their newly demoted place within it. It was logical in every way, but it was also a bleak and desolate vision, and one that placed personal survival in a hostile world above any other good. If this is how he sees the world, then living with that picture constantly before one’s eyes cannot be easy.
Orlando, as I would have expected from him, focused very much on personal connections. He attempted no large scale persuasion, but spoke quietly to those few that he had come to know a little, particularly the gnome, Spocksmith. Orlando has always had a gift for seeing past the general situation to the individuals within it. Where I might propose a good and virtuous general rule, and try to apply it as widely and equally as possible, he would already know the half dozen ways in which it must be adapted to fit each individual circumstance. I have come to see over the years that it’s a surprisingly rare gift, and it’s certainly one that I would give a great deal to be able to emulate.
I am honestly not entirely sure what the main thrust of Sabali’s argument was, but the antics which surrounded it were certainly eye-catching and amusing enough to help to lower the temperature of the discussion. At one point he appeared to be composing poetry extempore, which entertained the locals no end. He made no secret of the fact that he thought Barithia had been out and out evil, or that he thought that they would be complete fools to remain in Bel now that the charm had been removed, but somehow he said it with enough of a smile that no-one really took offence. Of all of us, I think he sees the least grey area (and this is me talking!), and that sort of certainty can be very appealing, although of course it also has its dangers.
For myself, my overwhelming instinct was to appeal to duty, to remind people of the need to put the interests of the group ahead of one’s own preferences. Although I tried hard to weave all the threads of argument together, there is no denying that this is where my mind first went. Duty is undoubtedly a kinder, and a richer, field than fear, but it is still a stern one and demands from the individual both sacrifice and self-denial. My argument was just and fair, but it was also austere, perhaps too much so for people who had already been through an ordeal. In hindsight, I might perhaps have taken a slightly different tack.
It was Enessa, however, whose words really changed things. Instead of focusing on the need to give up on the dreams that had brought people to Bel - either because of their false roots, or because they were too dangerous, or because they must now be sacrificed to the greater needs of others - instead she took those hopes and focused on what might be salvaged. The idea of Bel as a home, as a community, was what people were mourning, and were reluctant to surrender, and so she proposed transplanting it to a safer location, closer to Drynna. She made extravagant suggestions about the support that might be forthcoming from the Drynnan authorities, and I don’t know how realistic they were, but nothing that she said sounded outright impossible.
This is what transformed the mood. First in Enessa’s own words to Oteas, and also to Galoti, and then in my retelling of her vision to the village meeting later on. This suggestion is what moved the conversation from one of acceptance of a loss to one of real hope for the future. When the priests speak about Kindling the Light, this is exactly what they mean. It was thanks to Enessa that people packed their bags with a sense of purpose, and not merely with resentment or a dread of the alternative. She displayed an insight and a compassion that belied her young age, as well as contradicting almost every stereotype that the common gossip would attribute to her people.
Anyway, this all culminated in a village meeting called by Rithuia. Despite our best efforts, there had been a few holdouts who were determined to stay on despite all warnings and pleas to the contrary. This group was led by Sprocksmith’s wife, Galoti, a handsome elven woman of middle years, and it was mainly the other elves and half elves who supported her. This was interesting to me, because it was the elven folk who should have been least affected by the charm that Barithia had used, and the quickest to shake it off. Perhaps they had a more genuine personal stake in Bel than the others, and that made them less inclined to give it up. My own feeling, after several long discussions, was that perhaps it was time to respect their choice, and focus on preparing those who wished to go to leave, but Enessa set her jaw at that, and was not content to leave things as they were. At her urging then, Raphael and I agreed to make one last attempt, and so the meeting was called.
Now, you will probably remember that, back in Vasselheim, I took the sword rather late, at least as these things usually go. Before that - indeed, before I knew you, now I think on it - I had intended to be a preacher, and not a warrior. It was only after two years of the cloister that I was called to my true vocation. Although, I’m sure in some alternate reality somewhere there is a Ceridwen who is a fat and happy priest somewhere in a warm office in a church in Vasselheim! I must confess that I do envy her every time I have to bed down under a hedge, or when I am spending countless hours cleaning some monster's blood from my surcoat.
Anyway, from that experience I know at least the basics of how to craft a sermon, how to sway the congregation, to stiffen their resolve towards virtue, or to persuade them away from danger. The rough logs on which I stood to make this address were no pulpit, but the principle was much the same. I tried to weave all the treads of what had been said together, but I allowed Enessa’s voice of hope to run through everything I said, offering the possibility of something new, and better, to compensate for the necessity of giving up what was lost. Raphael assisted me most ably, adding a far more chilling finality to the picture of what might befall those who remained than I could have managed on my own. I could see Orlando in quiet conversation with Galoti and Sprocksmith afterwards, no doubt rendering my more abstract words concrete and personal to them.
After we were done, and the last stragglers had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to begin packing, Enessa thanked me for my efforts. That was kind of her - I’d been quite nervous about it, and I had seen her dark eyes fixed on me as I was speaking, full of expectation and confidence. I was very glad that I hadn’t disappointed her, but really, she is the one who most deserves thanks in all this.
For the rest of the day we assisted the villagers in packing up anything that could be carried out. They had very little by way of coin - this had been discovered when Sabali had attempted some busking (with the improvised poetry), and had passed around his entertainer’s hat - and so every possession was precious, and would be needed in whatever life each family chose next. As well as that, no-one really wanted to leave things for the gnolls to plunder. Everything that could physically be carried was stowed away, which meant that it would be a slow and heavily laden progress back to town.
Having seen the lack of coin, Sabali proposed that we donate some money to the village to help them to make a fresh start in Drynna. People were generally supportive of the idea, with the exception of Wind and Zeni, who seemed extremely sceptical. It was then that Raphael made the unfortunate discovery that his coin purse had been lost somewhere in the swamp. It could happen easily enough with everything we have been through the past few days, but a real shame even so. I don’t suppose that there is any chance of finding it now, unless it has been caught up in the baggage somewhere.
Anyway, it looks hopeful that we will be able to persuade the town authorities to do something for the villagers, but if not, then Sabali is absolutely right, a plan will need to be made to support anyone left friendless.
While we had been speaking with the villagers, Zeni and Arin had been doing the practical work of assessing the food supplies situation, they had made a few calculations and declared it adequate, as long as we also did some hunting and foraging along the way. With this heartening information, we planned to set out the next morning, at first light.
The next morning dawned grey and misty, and the empty houses of Bel looked very forlorn as people made their final farewells to the homes which they had built with their own hands. At least they were not saying goodbye to friends and neighbours. All in all, there were 40 people on the road - 8 of us, and 32 villagers. A very large number to be making our way through the wilderness.
The trek back was long. It was nine full days of hard travel, with many in the group very ill-suited and poorly equipped for such a journey. Enessa guided us as usual, but it was a difficult task, and she often struggled to find the easiest way through. Too often we found ourselves doubling back or hacking our way through dense thickets to make any headway at all. People grumbled and muttered under their breath at each new delay or diversion, and tempers easily frayed.
Anyone who fell behind, or who pitched their sleeping space too far from the central fire, was at risk of attack by beasts who could easily snatch a person and drag them into the swamp before anyone had a chance to react. We lost Jeimun that way on the third night of the march - he had said that he couldn’t sleep well enough with everyone snoring and shifting all the time, and so he took his bedroll a little way off from the company. In the morning all we found were blood stained blankets and the footprints of some large beast with webbed feet. After that, everyone slept close, snoring or not, and the watch was doubled.
Hunting and foraging were absolutely necessary, with so many mouths to feed, but both had their risks as well. The dwarven brothers Unvon and Hekron were felled by a group of angry wild boar which turned at the last moment and charged them, goring and then trampling both men before they could jump clear. They died from their wounds before they could be returned to camp, and were interred by their companions in the dark waters of the swamp.
The foraging team, which you might have expected to have a safer job, had problems as well - the elven woman Idrab (who was one of those who had most wanted to remain in Bel) ate some berries which turned out to be so immediately deadly that her corpse was stiff and cold before she could even be brought to a healer, despite being not 200 yards from camp at the time. After that, all food gathered from the wild was subjected to a purification spell before it was consumed. That kept Arin very busy, casting and recasting the ritual prayer again and again. I tried to help where I could, but I haven’t yet grasped the knack of ritual casting, and so there was very little I could do to ease his burden. Between that, and seeing to the medical needs of the party alongside Zeni, his work was really cut out for him.
As we walked, there was much talk of what might come next. Some people were very taken with Enessa’s idea of a New Bel, somewhere safer than the swamp, while others wanted nothing more than to get back to friends and loved ones who they had not seen in months. As the last vestiges of the charm wore off, and people began to really process what had happened, some struggled to come to terms with what had happened to them. They were a tough bunch, but even so, this was a hard reality to adjust to. We offered what support we could, of course, but it would take a good amount of time for people to truly heal.
Wind, for her part, spoke often and enthusiastically about her close personal relationship with Councilman Loriette and how she would be able to use her influence on him in the service of the villagers. Now, I have seen no evidence of such a friendship, but this is Wind’s hometown and perhaps there is something to what she says. I would guess that the Councilman might not be too keen to advertise such a connection, should it exist, so I suppose that it might be true. Seems quite unlikely, to be frank, but if she is willing to help, then that is all to the better.
Every evening we gathered around the fire and people told stories and tales to pass the dark hours around dinnertime. Everyone heard something which was new to them, I think, and certainly there were many variants of old stories that I had never heard before. Over the course of the week I must have sung every ballad that I knew which focused on the themes of hope and renewal, trying to get people to see in themselves those doughty adventurers who refused to give up, even in the face of catastrophe. I think it helped to lift spirits and keep people going. At times, I could almost feel golden threads of magic tracing through the notes, but I was never able to sustain them for more than a moment.
The tales that we choose to tell always speak volumes about us, and sharing stories with the villagers, I think I came to understand them a little more. With the right narratives, people can absorb and transform even the most difficult experiences, until they become something quite different from what they were at the start.
Orlando, for his part, spent much of his time deep in conversation with Sprocksmith, and in the evenings the two of them could often be found poring over drawings and plans. Apparently Sprocksmith has an idea for making Bayou a bit quieter, which I have to say, would be exceptionally useful. It’s one thing out here in the wilds, but back in town even a single shot would draw a huge amount of attention.
It’s been a while since I have seen Orlando this energised, clearly spending time with a fellow tinkerer has got his creative instincts flowing. Still, it almost led to disaster when he and Sprocksmith were so absorbed in discussing their new ideas that they fell behind the main group.
It must have happened very fast, because the first I heard of it was the loud report of Bayou firing again and again, followed by a lot of shouts from the rear of the column - by the time I got back there it was basically all over. Both the gnomes were sprawled on the churned up mud of the bank, with the corpse of a very large crocodile floating in the water beside them, several bullets lodged in its leathery hide. There was a lot of blood, and Sprocksmith’s right leg was badly mangled, but both were in good spirits even so. Orlando raised the stump of his hand to his sodden hat in salute, and then the both of them just fell about laughing. I think a bond has been forged there which will last a long while, and I’m glad of it. For all Orlando’s secrecy about Bayou, and his other inventions, I think his mind works best when he has people to share his ideas with - clever people I mean, who can actually help him to improve things, not just my clueless enthusiasm.
Fortunately, that was the last major incident of the journey, and we arrived back in Drynna this morning, having camped early last night so as to arrive at a sensible hour of the day.
We had agreed to provide the villagers with enough gold to at least see them through the first few days, until other arrangements could be made, but the collection of this gold, which amounted to some 7gp each, was not without its oddities. Raphael, of course, could not contribute, having left his purse somewhere back in the Rootgarden mud, so I agreed to cover his share, so that was no problem. Then Zeni insisted that she would give only two gold, and that to go directly to Rithuia only. This was very odd, especially considering the lengths which Zeni goes to to avoid Rithuia’s company, but before we could work on how to solve the shortfall, Wind stepped up and rather astounded everyone by offering 25gp from her own pocket.
Now, call me a cynic, but this set alarm bells ringing for me. Not only had she been very resistant to giving anything at all away when Sabali had asked her about it a week ago, but more generally I have never once known Wind to make an ostentatiously generous gesture that wasn’t the prelude to some scam or other. I think that she is up to something, but right now I don’t have any idea what it is. I intend to keep a close watch on the situation though, because I am not going to allow the people of Bel to be swindled out of any compensation which they might receive. There isn’t any real malice in Wind, but she finds it much too easy to overlook the consequences once she has a clever idea of how to get something done.
On the way into town, we passed by the northern docks, and to my immense relief they seemed peaceful and untouched by any further problems with the sahuagin. I had been worrying about this more and more on the final days of our journey, and I was very glad to see that my concern had been unfounded. I sent up a grateful prayer then and there, and I will conduct a more formal ritual of thanks once I have the leisure to do so.
Once in town, the group of villagers began to disperse, having agreed to meet again in a couple of days time to make a more detailed plan of what to do next. Those with family in Drynna went their own way, and those few without anywhere else to go we directed to the Eagle’s Landing. I hoped that Rebur would be able to accommodate them all, even if it meant some sleeping on pallets in the taproom. They had gold in their pockets now, but I suspect that their remarkable story alone would probably be payment enough for the bard.
Once the inhabitants of Bel had headed off, our steps turned towards the Sunrise Lodge. Raphael and Enessa both suggested that we might not want to tell the Council everything we knew, at least until we had more information about the part they might have played in whatever had happened twenty years before. I was initially very uncomfortable with this suggestion - it is hardly reasonable to expect openness from others if we refuse to extend the same courtesy to them after all. To withhold information is very often no different from lying, once the context is considered. However, I allowed myself to be persuaded, on the condition that I would speak up if I thought that the line which Raphael was taking could not be maintained with honour. He looked a bit discomforted himself at that, but agreed to my suggestion.
We were received with understandable surprise, but also with a warm welcome at the Lodge, and ushered through to Councilman Loriette’s office, where chairs and refreshments were brought for everyone. Apart from Wind, who somehow looked pretty much spotless again, we were all dusty and travel stained, and probably stank of swamp water. It had been so long now that I had almost stopped smelling it, but to the poor staff at the Lodge it must have been overpowering. They were all extremely polite though, and there was not so much as a wrinkled nose from anyone.
Once we were seated, and pleasantries had been exchanged, Raphael embarked on telling the tale. As he reached the part where we discovered that Barithia was a hag, I watched Loriette’s face carefully for any signs that this was something which he had already known or suspected. It was hard to read him, politicians learn to control their expressions I suppose, but he betrayed nothing that led me to think this was anything other than news to him.
When explaining how we had used magic to figure out what was wrong, Raphael gestured to Zeni, who moved her hands gracefully to demonstrate what I had come to recognise as the detection spell which had been so useful in the swamp. As she did so, some of the tattoos on her forearm began to glow, purple against her orange skin. I hadn’t seen that happen before, and, judging by her reaction, perhaps neither had Zeni. She immediately lowered her arm and half hid it behind her back. After a few minutes, it seemed that the glow had faded again, but Zeni still rubbed absent-mindedly at the spot where it had been. I don’t think that Loriette noticed anything out of the ordinary, but something unusual had happened, or so I guessed, at any rate.
Raphael then turned the questions back on the Councilman, his voice light and conversational, as if merely making small talk about something of only passing interest. How long, he asked, had Loriette been on the Council? These fifteen years past, came the answer. Still casual, Raphael asked whether he could think of any reason that the hag Barithia would have taken issue with the town. Loriette said that he could think of none, indeed that the whole story seemed to strain the bounds of credibility - not that he disbelieved us, of course, he hastened to add. Raphael enquired whether there were any Council members who had served for twenty years or more. No, came the reply, that wasn’t how it worked, in fact it was rare for anyone to serve even as long as he had done.
Raphael’s manner then grew rather more serious and he explained he had more to tell of what had befallen us in the swamp. We had slain both Barithia, and Seleena, in her spirit form, but that they had appeared to have a grudge against the town which had related to something which had occurred during the time of the dragon attacks twenty years back. A bargain had been made at that time, and then, apparently, broken by the Council. Did Loriette know of any such arrangement? Raphael’s gaze was intense, and I could see that he was trying as hard as I was to discern the authenticity of Loriette’s reaction to this news.
The Councilman wore a strange expression - he was surprised, I was sure of it, but also pensive. He leant back in his chair and seemed to ponder how much it was wise to say next. He spoke then of rumours which he said that he had been reluctant to give credence to, but which were persistent. They were never discussed in the open, but there had long been whispers of deals done at that difficult time. Desperate times calling for desperate measures, or so it was said. The idea that some such bargain with hags had indeed been made, and had been reneged upon, could not be ruled out entirely. He looked shamed by the possibility, and I thought that his discomfort was probably sincere.
Raphael spoke then with considerable authority about the wisdom of making deals with the fae, and about the lengths to which fae creatures will go should they feel that a promise has been broken. The main focus of his next enquiries seemed to be on why the hags had chosen to take action now, so many years after the alleged offence had taken place. I hadn’t really thought about this issue before, but it is certainly an interesting question, now that I come to consider it.
We asked for the details of any Council members of that time who might be able to shed more light on what had happened. Remarkably, it seems that only two men from that era are still alive, and, of these, only one remains resident in Drynna. His name is Erin Albrich, and his mind, apparently, is much diminished by old age. This lack of witnesses is quite strange in itself, for an event only two decades old, and seems rather suspicious in itself. Perhaps the practice in those days was to have much older people serve on the council? That is possible, I suppose, and might account for it, but this is a matter that may bear further investigation.
Seeming to recall some piece of lore which he had heard, Loriette asked then about whether there had been a third hag involved. This was a tricky moment for the conversation, and, if I had been leading it then I’m sure that I would have stumbled over my refusal to answer and made it completely obvious that there was something to worry about, but Raphael was far more deft. Yes, he said, but we intended to make private enquiries into that matter. It was not untrue, either in spirit or in letter, and more than that he managed to make it sound reasonable, even helpful, rather than defensive. Loriette seemed to accept this answer with almost no demur.
Almost at once, the conversation actually turned naturally to Althia, and the herbs which she had requested be gathered in the swamp. Sabali began to giggle a bit at that, and Arin and I both gave him a sharp look, but Raphael steadfastly ignored him, and the moment passed unremarked. We promised to visit Althia soon, and Loriette was pleased to hear it. Althia had, he said, been serving Drynna as apothecary for as long as he could remember, and he had an evident affection for her.
Before we left, I spoke to him about the refugees from Bel, and about the just claim that they had on the city, if these rumours of a dishonoured agreement were accurate. He agreed readily enough that their claim should be considered, and said that he would speak to others on the Council about it. We agreed to bring some of the villagers to meet with him in the coming days, so that things could be worked out.
On the way out, we collected the 200gp reward as agreed. There was some grumbling at the amount being a bit less than some people in the party had anticipated, but then, if you allow two paladins to negotiate on your behalf when faced with a stricken town and children who are sick, then really, what did they expect? The job had, I must admit, been longer, and harder than anyone had anticipated, and it was not even over yet. I knew, though, that everyone involved could be proud of what we had done (most of it anyway), and that is worth more than any pile of gold.
Before the matter can be considered properly closed though, we must go and see Althia, and find out what part she has played in all this.
I am very concerned indeed about the question of Althia. If she has fallen into the same darkness as her sisters, then we will have to deal with her as well, but I doubt, honestly, that this is the case. We have no real evidence for that hypothesis after all. On the other hand, if she is truly the good woman that she has seemed so far to be, then she is still very likely in considerable danger.
She wears the same face as Barithia, which any of the villagers of Bel would recognise at once, and more than that, her name is in the papers salvaged from the swamp. Galoti has seen and read them, and I would bet that she has discussed them with the other elves, if not the whole village. If those folk remain in the vicinity of Drynna, then someone will put two and two together at some stage. Raphael also mentioned the existence of the papers to Loriette, and offered them for inspection by a sylvan speaker in due course, which means that even more people would need to keep the secret. All in all, it seems very unlikely that Althia’s true nature is a secret that can be kept for long if she remains in this area.
Once the story about Barithia and Seleena is out, a lot of people will assume that she had something to do with what has happened, and even without that, there are plenty who would make assumptions about the quality of a person’s heart from the nature of their body. I fear that, even in the best case scenario, we must uproot yet another unsuspecting person from their home. That is not something I am looking forward to, but it may be the best we can offer at this point.
Once that is done, we ourselves must also think of where our next steps might lead. Our little band has grown quite used to one another’s company these last weeks, but what everyone’s future plans are, I don’t know. For myself, I am tired of walking these distant roads alone. Unless I am called elsewhere by duty, I will go with Orlando and lend him what assistance I can. He seems keen to visit this city of Whitestone, which Sprocksmith mentioned, and I must say that I too would be curious to see such a place. At the end of the day though, I will pray for guidance in this matter, and I will, of course, go where conscience directs me. That dependable guide brought me here, after all, and this last month has been extraordinary.
I have written in my previous letters to you about the changes I have felt over the past few weeks, and I would hazard that every single one of my companions has experienced something of similar magnitude. Almost day by day I have seen them grow both more powerful, and more confident in their abilities. It makes me wonder if there may be some catalysing influence in our being together - indeed, I felt something of the sort right at the start of this, and, although it has faded from the forefront of my consciousness, it is still there in the background. Perhaps its work is not yet done.
I will be posting this letter, along with the others from the past month, as soon as I get the opportunity. Later today I hope, or perhaps tomorrow at the latest. If I can, I will add one more note to let you know what becomes of Althia, and also what my plans are for the next few weeks at least.
In which we achieve a victory, of sorts.
25th Quen'Pillar
Pausing only to do a bit of first aid on the worst of our injuries, mainly on Wind who had evidently been hit hard by the swamp creatures, we set off in pursuit of Barithia, heading back the way that we had come, towards Bel.
The going was tough. We were hurrying as much as we could, but the terrain was very difficult underfoot and it was more than a bit of a slog. Without Enessa to guide us it would have been far harder, but even as it was, the swampy ground sucked at our boots, and the thin branches seemed to whip at our faces as we pushed our way through, trying to follow Barithia’s path as directly as possible. Since she was able to pass straight through obstacles on our plane - trees and ditches and suchlike - we had our work cut out not to fall behind completely. Even as it was, she gradually pulled ahead, and after an hour or so, Zeni’s magic faded and we lost all sight of her. She had seemed to be heading for Bel though, so we continued on that path as fast as we were reasonably able to go.
It was suggested that some of the speedier party members might try to move ahead, attempting to reach Bel before Barithia did, but it was decided that this, even if possible, which it may not even have been, was not a good idea. Arin spoke eloquently about the unpleasantness of facing the hag alone, and so we decided that sticking together would be the best plan.
As we made our way through the gloomy late afternoon shadows, a few times I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A humanoid figure, standing by the path and watching us silently. As soon as I turned my head to look at it fully, it was gone. It was incredibly creepy, and I let the others know what I had seen. I tried to use divine sense to locate any unholy creatures that might be lurking - another banshee for instance, but I found nothing.
A few minutes later, Arin gave a shout - he had seen it too now. He described it as a tall female figure, and said that it seemed somehow to be waiting with an air of impatience. Arin called out to it, in common, ‘You there! Why do you follow us?’, but got no response beyond the shrieking of the birds and the wind in the trees. Raphael called out something in Sylvan as well. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, but then a very strange look came over Raphael’s face. I couldn’t tell if he had seen something out of place, or if some thought had just occurred to him, but it made him go rather green about the gills. I was on the point of putting my hand on my sword, ready to face whatever threat he had spotted, when he said quickly ‘Let’s keep moving, we have to get to Bel’, and so we set off again, picking our way carefully over the slippery ground.
It was only moments later however, when I turned back to make sure that everyone was okay, and I saw Raphael on his knees in the mud, face pale and set with nerves. I hoped very much that he was not feeling ill again - we would be hard pressed to deal with that under current circumstances, but he pushed himself quickly back onto his feet and carried on. I followed, keeping an eye out for the mysterious figure as best I could, but I did not see her again. Raphael believes that she was only ever a trick of the light, but I don’t think so. Something unknown was watching us out there, and that remains a cause for concern.
As we walked, Raphael said that he had remembered something which might be of use. A hag, he said, carried with her something on her person which facilitated her movement between the planes. If that thing was removed from her possession then she would be unable to vanish, and would be forced to engage with us, one way or the other. Unfortunately he could remember nothing else about this object, which he thought was called a ‘heartstone’ - what it might look like, or how large it was, or anything really. Still, if we found the opportunity to take it somehow, perhaps it would be helpful.
We also discussed our tactics as we walked. Barithia would arrive at Bel at least some minutes ahead of us, maybe as much as half an hour, and so she would have time to rally the villagers to her defence, should she choose that path. She clearly had them under some sort of charm, so it would presumably be easy for her to convince them that we posed a danger. I tried to emphasise how important it was that we did not harm them, even if they actively attacked us - they were innocent victims in this after all - but I hoped that it would not come to that. Back at her house, Barithia had said that she wanted to keep these people safe, and I really did not think that she would deliberately endanger them in any confrontation. Slightly to my surprise, one of the strongest voices in support of making sure that the villagers came to no harm was Enessa’s. I would, if I am honest, perhaps have expected her to be most concerned about her own safety, and perhaps that of Ussi, but I would have been doing her a real injustice in thinking so. Not only did she speak up strongly for the safety of the villagers in our discussion, but later, when Raphael and I attempted to reason with Barithia again, she stood with us bravely, potentially putting herself in harm’s way to do so. For Raphael and I, it is our duty as sworn paladins to take such risks, after all, but she did it freely, and from her own heart.
We reached the edge of the trees just to the north of Bel, and Wind and Sabali crept forward to see if they could see anything of what was happening in the village. They are both very light-footed in normal circumstances, but the journey through the swamp had taken its toll on us all, and they were spotted just as they stepped between the outermost buildings of the settlement. Sabali stepped forward, talking quickly and trying to provide a distraction for Wind to slip away and back to the group. As soon as she told us what had happened, we started walking toward the village. There was no more time for stalling, they knew that we were here, and so the less we seemed to be trying to hide, the better. As we did so, Raphael explained again to Wind about the heartstone and asked whether she thought that she might be able to use her skills to essentially pick Barithia’s pockets. I cautioned her not to try it too soon - if we were to have any chance to talking, or of drawing Barithia out, away from the villagers, then someone getting caught sneaking was the last thing that we needed.
Raphael, Enessa, and I led the way as we walked into the centre of Bel, our weapons stowed and trying to present as peaceable a face as possible. There was no sign of Barithia, but many of the villagers were out of their houses, staring at us with flat and hostile eyes. Oteas, the old woman who had asked me to pray for those killed by the gnolls, approached us angrily, demanding to know why we had come back. Raphael tried to smooth things over, reminding her that just the night before we had all been drinking and laughing together. She looked confused for a moment, but then tilted her head, as if listening to something which only she could hear. ‘You tried to kill Barithia!’ she said, with certainty. Raphael offered gently to tell her our side of the story, and she repeated her charge, asking us whether or not it was true. I replied that we had offered no harm to Barithia until she had attacked us, and Raphael reminded her that we had fought last night to defend Bel from the banshee. That banshee was closely connected to Barithia, he explained. She looked very conflicted and unhappy at that, and I desperately hoped that the charm would not prove powerful enough to compel her to place herself in harm’s way if, as seemed likely, it came to a fight. If Barithia tried to use these people as shields, it could get very ugly indeed.
Raphael then raised his voice and said loudly ‘If Barithia is here, why won’t she speak with us?’, and from the other side of the village he received a prompt answer.
Barithia, in her human form now, and seemingly back on the material plane, stepped out of one of the little houses, and stood on the narrow wooden walkway which crossed the water. ‘Here I am’ she said, tension making her voice hard, ‘what do you want from me?’. Raphael spoke first, in common, charging her with the truth of what had happened at our last meeting, and asking her again to free the people of Drynna from the curse which she had laid upon them. Brandishing the papers which we had taken from her house, he confronted her with the evidence of the harm which she had done to Drynna, and also to the people here, offering to share that evidence with them if she did not co-operate with us in solving the problems which had been created. His arguments were cogent, and well phrased, but this was always going to be difficult
Baraithia looked very troubled at his words, and I saw fear flicker across her face at the sight of the papers. The tone of Raphael’s voice was firm, perhaps even somewhat harsh - I think that he too was feeling the effect of our frantic dash back through the swamp - and I tried my best to soften our position a little. We had also learned from the journal, I said, that she and her sisters had struggled hard to avoid this fate, and that she should be proud of that, and not give up the fight. Whatever was happening now could still be stopped.
At that, she seemed to break down, and put her hands to her head as if it pained her. I was doing my best to empathise with her struggle, to judge the words that might reach her through the madness, and draw her back. Perhaps that openness is what made me vulnerable. Then again, I too was exhausted after the day’s travails, and perhaps that was enough on its own.
Barithia began to mutter under her breath, and to flick her fingers as if casting some sort of spell. The next thing I knew, my mind had become….woolly. Raphael and Enessa were both staring at me in a very disconcerting way, but I couldn’t see what the problem might be. I looked at Barithia, and I found a piercing sympathy for her first and foremost in my mind. We had been cruel to disturb her peace, cruel to tax her with the consequences of her actions in Drynna, and what were we trying to do now? I honestly could not remember. Surely there was no need for hard words? All this could be worked out easily enough. I knew in the back of my mind that I was missing something, but it simply slipped past my conscious thoughts when I tried to focus on it.
Raphael then switched to sylvan, and if anything, his tone became even harder. Barithia looked shocked by what he was saying, her face crumpled and miserable. Her form began to flicker between human and hag as her control apparently weakened. Raphael pressed his point, speaking quickly now, still in sylvan, and gesturing back towards the path down which we had come. She cried out at that, her voice anguished, and she spoke in common. ‘Just leave me alone, what do you want from me?’
At that, Enessa, who had been silent up to this point spoke up, not loudly but with an intensity which commanded attention. ‘I too, know what it is to be the other here.’ she began, ‘It is never easy, but we do not have to be the monsters that they paint us as, we have a choice’. Her eyes were fixed on Barithia as she spoke, and the emotion was thick in her voice. I could see that she was speaking from experience, and I wondered what price her own heritage had exacted. I knew that drow were often regarded with suspicion and dislike in many quarters, dismissed as cruel followers of Lolth, and for all Enessa’s mixed parentage, her drow inheritance was by far the more visible element. Had she herself been seen as a monster? It was an uncomfortable thought, but I had to admit that it could be the case. That would certainly give her an insight into Barithia’s pain in a way that I, my features stamped from birth with an angel’s golden mark, could never match. Enessa had spoken proudly and defiantly, but I knew it still must have cost her something. It was generous of her to do it, and I silently blessed her for it, and prayed that it would be enough to draw Barithia back from the brink.
Barrithia gave Enessa a long look, considering, and I thought that perhaps I could see some of the tension easing from her face, but then she turned back to face Raphael. Replying to his sylvan speech in common, she then said something very odd indeed. ‘You threaten me with Queen Mab, and then you expect me to speak with you!’ she said, bitterness overflowing in her voice. Now, at the time, I focused only on the word threat - in my befuddled state, it made me both sad and angry, on her behalf. Why would Raphael be threatening Barithia? Poor, kind, suffering Barithia, who wanted nothing more than to be left in peace! I knew that something was wrong with that picture, but again, it slipped past me when I tried to pin it down. The charm which she had laid on me was a powerful one and I could not shake it off.
Now though, looking back on it with the benefit of hindsight, the part of that which seems strangest is not the talk of threats, but the mention of ‘Queen Mab’. Who or what is she? And why should Barithia fear her? This was not at all the conversation that I had anticipated we would have, or that we had discussed on the journey. Could Zeni have been right about the use of sylvan being about more than simple convenience? I really hope not, but it was, now that I reflect on it, a very odd thing to say.
The conversation continued for another few moments, with everyone professing that they did not want a conflict, but the fragile bridges of trust that we had been struggling to build with Barithia were just not strong enough to stand against the waves of pain and fear that she seemed to be experiencing. Her capacity to reason had clearly been tenuous for some time, and this situation, with all its pressures, was simply too much for her. With a shriek, she allowed her human form to drop completely and it was now very clear indeed that she intended to fight.
Mind you, still charmed, I found it impossible to believe that she truly meant us harm. This misunderstanding would all be sorted out soon, I had no doubt.
I heard Orlando firing Bayou, but thankfully (as I saw it at the time) the shot went wide. To my surprise, none of the villagers reacted at all. They stood silently, apparently in some sort of catatonic state, limbs still and eyes unblinking. If they stayed that way, perhaps we could avoid any harm befalling them, as long as we were careful.
Raphael pulled at my arm, urging me to snap out of it and come with him to confront the hag. At the time, this seemed nothing other than annoying - it was just like him to be so bossy - first he was haranguing Barithia, and now he was telling me what to do as well. I glared at him and shook his hand angrily from my arm. He nodded grimly at that, and let go, turning away and running towards Barithia, pushing past unmoving villagers as he went. Once he got close though, instead of attacking her, he seemed to be simply staring at her. Absently, I looked at her too, and I recalled distantly that at one point I had found her bluish skin and strangely textured hair unpleasant to look at, even horrifying, but now I just couldn’t see what the problem might have been.
I saw Sabali making his way forward to stand on her other side, shoving aside villagers who hardly seemed to notice his passage. A couple more ranged attacks hit the water, or the wood of the walkway, but did nothing but make Barithia angrier. She clawed then at Raphael, drawing blood from long scratches on his face and neck. It was clearly an accident, my unwilling mind insisted.
I decided that it would be best if I could get between Barithia and my friends, before any harm could come to anyone, but there was no space on the walkway for me. With an effort of will, I allowed the warmth which I had felt in my shoulder blades for the past week, to blossom into wings. I flew low over the water and hovered by the side of the path, a rich golden light reflecting off the brown and murky swamp, and bathing the whole scene in a gentle radiance. Something in the back of my mind was shouting for my attention, but the surface of my thoughts was smooth. We were all friends here, and nothing bad would happen, I was confident. Looking back now, it terrifies me, the degree to which that warm and comfortable assurance crippled my ability to act.
Arin was holding his holy symbol, eyes closed and praying fervently. Barithia gasped, dark lines opening on her arm and energy seeming to bleed from it. Could the two be connected? Surely not, I thought.
Raphael’s eyes had seemed to fix on something which was hanging from Barithia’s belt, and then I saw him signal to Sabali. What Sabali did in response was very surprising indeed. It seemed almost to be a sort of display - he moved quickly from one dramatic pose to the next, at one point even standing on his hands. Barithia seemed to pay no real mind to this, but perhaps it captured more of her attention than it had seemed to, because when Raphael reached out to snatch the pouch from her belt, she did not react quickly enough. He drew back his arm and flung the pouch far out over the water, and when it hit, it sank quickly and without trace. Barithia screamed at that, and it was an awful tearing sound of loss and fear.
Very worried now about the unpleasant turn which events were taking, I raised my hand in benediction and cast a prayer of protection on Raphael. It did no good - she launched a series of three small but very dangerous magical strikes against him. The protective spell hung in the air, but these missiles somehow bypassed it and hit him full in the chest. He dropped heavily, the untouched protection prayer settling on his unmoving body. Barithia looked down at him with rage in her eyes.
A little way away, Zeni was holding her hand up and seemed to be brandishing something. It looked a bit, although not all that much, like the pouch which Raphael had taken from Barithia’s belt, and I guessed that it was an illusion intended to make Barithia think that she had retrieved the object. It was a clever plan, and a bold one, but unfortunately she hadn’t had a close enough look at the pouch to create a very convincing replica, and I don’t think that Barithia was fooled.
Enessa and Orlando were still shooting from the bank, firing as quickly as they could. Those hits which did get through seemed to do surprisingly little damage to Barithia, but every small bit of damage was helping. Not that I saw it that way at the time of course.
Barithia looked over at them, confusion, fear and anger mixed in her eyes, and Orlando, lowering Bayou for a moment, made one last, brave, attempt to save the situation. ‘Miss Barithia,’ he began, his courtesy holding of course, even in the midst of battle ‘you had no choice but to be born a monster, but it is your choice if you die as one’. His voice was sad, almost gentle, but his words were powerful, and they cut right to the rotten heart of things. Barithia’s face was a picture of despair - she knew that the choice had been there, and she had tried very hard to make it - we had read that in her scribbled journal - but over the years her strength had waned, and now she was backed into a corner, her mind lost in rage and sorrow. The choice remained before her, bright and clear as ever, but she had lost the capacity to believe that it was there, and so she could not see it.
Sabali struck at her then from the other side, lashing out with his fists and drawing her attention while I brushed the feathers of my wing across Raphael’s prone form, imparting as much celestial energy as I could, and willing him to find the strength to rise. He did so, legs weak and shaking, his face still bleeding heavily, but back on his feet, raising his blade to Barithia, and striking hard. My charmed mind revolted at that, this was not why I had saved him, so that he could do violence! But something deeper in me cheered him on. If this had to be done, and I knew now that it did, then it should be done as quickly and cleanly as possible.
I think Barithia sensed that something in me had shifted, because she turned very quickly and tore at me unexpectedly with her claws. With the charm still clouding my mind, I was completely open to her attack, and she did a huge amount of damage. A wave of agony tore through my body, and I cried out with the pain, but that pain also seared through my mind, dispelling the charm, and so I welcomed it eagerly. The wounds on my body were bad, certainly, and I would struggle to endure another hit like that, but my mind was clean again and so I rejoiced.
I raised my sword and allowed my wings to expand to their full width. The golden glow reflected in the water grew brighter, and I could feel my hair floating up around my head, the tiny sparks of light no doubt dancing like a halo. I was fully myself again, thank god, and, for once, I allowed the full glory of my blood to sing out without restraint.
Looking around with newly clear eyes, I could see Zeni, diamond in hand, shaping her orb spell, spinning it between her hands and then launching a powerful burst of lightning strikes which hit Barithia very hard indeed. She might be able to shrug off a lot of what we could throw at her, but not that, it seemed. Zeni grinned broadly, seeing her handiwork, and I smiled back. It was a job very well done.
Wind and Arin were standing close together at the far end of one of the wooden pathways, and he seemed to be speaking to her in great earnest, almost entreating her. Her face was distant and distracted, and she seemed to be taking in none of what he said. I guessed that perhaps she might be suffering from the same charm effect that I had been under, but if Arin was unable to snap her out of it I couldn’t think of anything I would be able to do either. At the end of the conversation, Wind seemed to somehow slip and fall into the water, where she splashed clumsily, and called Arin, who for some reason she blamed, some very impolite names. She seemed to regard the rest of the battle with indifference, and I felt a stab of sympathy for her. Mind magic is a nasty business, doing far more harm in its own way than fire or lightning might do.
My attention came back to Barithia as she struck at Sabali with her claws, and he danced back nimbly out of the way. Over her shoulder, on the far bank, I could see Zeni with her hand on Orlando’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Listening, he raised Bayou, and with pinpoint accuracy he managed to catch Barithia at just the right angle to knock her down. It was a perfect opportunity, and Sabali, Raphael and I were all able to capitalise on it. Raphael struck with his mysterious cold blade, Sabali simply with his fists for the most part, and then I saw my opening. My sword is no magical heirloom, more’s the pity, but as my blade hit home I called on Bahamut to lend his power to my strike. The physical damage from the blow was relatively trivial, but the radiant damage which flowed from both the smite and from my own innate energy did a lot of work. The combined effect of all these attacks was that Barithia was obviously weakened, maybe close to death, and I began to hope that it was nearly over.
Desperate now, Barithia struck again at Raphael, and once again he collapsed, the little strength that I had been able to grant him not nearly enough to stave off such a blow. Seeing her opening then, Barithia then tried to flee, jumping off the walkway and into the water. As she did so arrows whistled past her on both sides. I heard her yelling at Wind to search for the pouch which was somewhere lost in the swamp. Wind seemed to make some effort to do so, her mind apparently still swayed, but really it was a hopeless quest.
I flew out over the water in pursuit, striking again with my sword and allowing the radiant energy to flow through me and into the blade. It was almost enough, but not quite. To my right, Sabali was watching closely, obviously not wanting to enter the water, but steeling himself to do it if it became necessary. To my left, I could see Arin looking nervously from Barithia to Rapahel’s unmoving body. He was evidently close to the end of his strength, and weighing up how best to use his last reserves of power. Making up his mind, he thrust out his shield, with the holy symbol of Ioun pointing directly at the wounded hag, and began to weave a guiding bolt. It grew in strength as I watched it, three thick strands of azure energy, twisting together and then shooting across the intervening distance in the blink of an eye. The divine power of the bolt did its work very efficiently, leaving very little of Barithia to fall back into the waters of the swamp which she had called home. It was over. Finally.
I flew back to where Raphael lay, and channeled the last trickle of power that I could muster into the wounds on his chest. As he opened his eyes, and I could see that he would be alright, I allowed my wings to fade from sight, and the light of my transformation to dim. The early evening seemed very dark to me afterwards, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
Around us, the villagers were returning to their senses, looking at us nervously, and with varying degrees of hostility. By this time we were all so tired it was hard to string a sentence together, but we offered what explanation and reassurance we could. I’m not sure how the others got on, but Raphael and I spoke with Rithuia, and I think she understood what we were saying.
Using a detect magic spell, Zeni managed to find the heartstone, still in its pouch, where Raphael had thrown it. It didn’t look like much to me, but apparently it might have some healing properties which could be useful. I think that Raphael has it stowed somewhere for now.
For now, we all need to sleep, but before I do, I will spend some time in prayer for Barithia’s soul. She fell into terrible darkness in her last days and weeks, it is true, but she had tried hard for many years to take another path, despite being born into circumstances so difficult that it is hard to even imagine them. Unlike her poor sister Seleena, whose undead spirit had caused so much trouble, I do not believe that Barithia’s soul will roam unquiet in this place. I very much hope not anyway. I will pray that she finds mercy beyond the veil, and that, if she has no deity of her own to claim her, the Raven Queen will deal with her gently.
In which a sprite is summoned
25th Quen'Pillar
Drawing again from his pack the stones which he had used last night in Bel, Raphael laid them in a circle on ground. Inside it he placed a wooden bowl, carved with runes, to which he added half a day’s worth of rations. Reserving one stone, and cautioning us to stay well back, he sat before the circle, legs crossed and sword across his knees.
After only a few minutes, a tiny glowing figure shot across the clearing and hovered over the bowl. Calmly, Raphael placed the final stone and completed the circle. The little figure was not more than six inches tall and had bright white wings which were moving too fast to see the motion as anything more than a blur. When he alighted for a moment on the edge of the bowl, I could see that he was male, and young, at least to look at. He spoke in a high, piping voice, in a language which I did not recognise, beyond the fact that it carried the cadence of the elves. Raphael replied in the same tongue, and I recalled that he had named this language sylvan, when he had spoken it in Althia’s garden.
Switching to common, Raphael apologised to the fey, for such it was, for the poor quality of the food he had provided. He reminded the little figure that he had offered better fare in Drynna over the two weeks we had been staying there, and promised that he would do so again, when he could. At that, I felt some of the group shift uneasily - so, I was not the only one who had been unaware of this previous arrangement.
Raphael introduced courteously us to the fey, whose name was Moonflake, and explained that he had first met him at the fairy circle near to Althia’s cottage. What did Moonflake know about Altria, he asked. Well, said the fey, she was nice, always left out food. This sounded like a broadly positive review, although if true, it meant that Althia had lied to us about the circle. Raphael then asked him straight out whether or not Althia was a hag, and he said, without any hesitation, that she was. There was a chorus of sharp intakes of breath at that.
The question was asked, not by Raphael I think, but I forget by who, perhaps Arin, as to whether Althia was a good or a bad fae. At this the little creature seemed non-plussed, flitting from one side of the circle and back in consternation at not being able to answer the question.
Although he had mostly been speaking in common, after the initial exchange at least, now Raphael lapsed into sylvan, I am guessing to rephrase the question.
Are there other hags near here, he asked. Yes, came back the answer, three hags! This exchange switched back and forth between common and sylvan, which at the time I thought little enough about, but it turned out that some people had read much more of significance into it. All I can say, is that at the time, it didn’t strike me as suspicious, merely as an aid to better communication.
The three hags were described as the one where they had met (Althia, one presumes), the one just north of here (who was confirmed as Berithia), and a third, unnamed, described as dead, but not stopped. My guess would be that was the so-called banshee we had fought the night before.
Raphael thanked the little fey with great seriousness, invited him to eat his fill, and then drew aside a stone, opening the circle. At once, Moonflake grabbed as much food as he could carry in mouth and hands, and shot at lightning-quick speed out among the trees.
It had been a strange ceremony to witness, but there was nothing sinister to it, as far as I could see. The fey, although trapped by the circle, had not appeared to be in distress, and if anything had seemed to be rather enjoying the exchange.
Enessa spoke first, asking whether these fae were common in Raphael’s homeland. Common enough, yes, he replied. They were known as sprites. If she hadn’t encountered them before it was probably because the elves were closer to the fae than the drow were. I have no idea of the truth of this, but Enessa seemed to find it reasonable.
Arin was looking curiously at the remaining stones of the circle, his brow furrowed. 'I don’t recognise any of this as the Moonweaver’s magic’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘your Lady seems to grant you very different gifts from those of other paladins’, gesturing at me as he spoke. It was said quietly, and without any real challenge behind the words, but still, Raphael became visibly flustered at the comment. He started to gather the stones up quickly, and put them into his pack. As he did so, he said, ‘Well, it’s true, the moonblades can have unusual effects, and this is a great and powerful weapon, granted me by my Queen.’. Listening, I caught his eye as he straightened up from fastening his pack, and gave him a flat, steady look, holding his gaze for a long moment. There was something ringing false here. Neither of us cared to have the conversation there and then, but, very soon, that turned out to matter not at all.
We all discussed the possible value, and the best use of the information which Moonflake had provided. For myself, I was quite wary about the level of confidence which Raphael seemed to place in Moonflake’s word, given the brevity of their acquaintance, but since he and I had apparently had the same goal here, to speak to Barithia and question her, before resolving how to proceed (rather than launching some sort of ambush, as others had suggested), I did not press the issue.
Zeni, who had seemed to be struggling to weigh something in her own mind for some minutes now, ever since Arin had raised the question of whether the Moonweaver was the true source of the power of Raphael’s circle, and who was looking very unhappy indeed, suddenly seemed to come to a decision. Stepping forward, she fired a rapid string of questions at Raphael, most of which boiled down to ‘this seems incredibly suspicious, why should we trust you?’ I think that everyone was taken off guard. Sabali looked from Zeni to Raphael and back again, clearly confused, and maybe even conflicted, by what was happening, loyal to Zeni, but fond of Raphael as well. Enessa and Wind seemed surprised, as though before this they had barely registered that anything out of the ordinary was going on, but Arin and even Orlando, were stony-faced, nodding slowly at Zeni’s questions.
I could see well enough that Raphael was hiding something, probably something important. That much was obvious from his manner, but still, I too was very surprised by this sudden accusation. Did Zeni know something more, or could see something that I could not? I was aware of Orlando shifting his stance, loosening his coat so that Bayou would be more readily accessible, and glancing to me for my reaction to all this. That was a sobering moment. Surely there was no way that this could actually come to violence? I didn’t think that it could, but then Orlando is often a better judge of such matters than me, and certainly you could have cut the tension with a knife. I freed my sword arm to swing loosely at my side, but shook my head very slightly at Orlando, and said nothing as yet. If Raphael had secrets, as he evidently did, then in my opinion, this was not the time or the place to air them. If others had something to say though, perhaps it was better said now than to let suspicion poison our hearts when we were likely headed into a dangerous fight.
Wind stepped forward, coming close to Raphael (almost uncomfortably close, as is often her wont), and said something flippant which I think was intended to lighten the mood. That it failed to do so is an understatement.
Taking a half step back, Raphael, his eyes flicking to the stern faces of Zeni and Arin, and then to Orlando and myself, noting, perhaps, the subtle sense of readiness despite my efforts to keep my expression calm and neutral, lifted his empty hands in a placating gesture. ‘Before anything happens that we might regret’ he said ‘I am going to lay down my sword’. He clearly shared Orlando’s sense that violence might not be beyond the realms of possibility. I found it hard to believe how quickly the mood had shifted. Was there something about the summoning that I had not understood?
Sabali looked miserable at this, and urged everyone to be calm. Zeni, who had been so full of fire a moment ago, seemed surprised at the furore she had provoked. Stepping back and speaking more quietly, she said that she had no interest in starting a conflict, but that she found it very suspicious that parts of the conversation with Moonflake had taken place in Sylvan, which no-one but Raphael could speak.
Raphael, now holding his sword belt unbuckled in his hands, the blade sheathed and the hilt deliberately pointed away, defended himself from this implied charge of secret communications. He had, he said, simply asked Moonflake to speak in common, that we might all hear his words, rather than in his native sylvan, which was the language in which they usually conversed. He looked to me for verification that this had been the case when I had heard them speak by Althia’s cottage some weeks ago. I nodded my assent, although I was thinking as I did so about how he had warned me then that the fae were not to be trusted.
‘My concern’ said Raphael ‘is that in Althia, we’ve learned that someone we thought was an ally may not be…’.
Orlando cut him off at that, with a curt ‘Well, we just don’t want to make that same mistake again.’ and nodded at the ground by Raphael’s feet. Raphael, as if remembering a task that had slipped his mind placed the sword slowly down, still in its scabbard, and straightened up, keeping his hands visible and open at his sides. I wish that I could tell you whether this whole gesture was some sort of careful performance designed to make him seem more vulnerable, and therefore win sympathy, or if it was done out of a genuine fear of attack. Both possibilities seemed outlandish, and both made me feel a little sick, in their own different ways.
To my surprise, Orlando continued, his voice mild, but focused. His point, essentially, was that it was rather convenient the way that things were working out, with Raphael hypothesising the hag, and then calling on a witness to verify his suspicions, speaking to that witness in a language no-one else could understand, perhaps directing him in what to say.
I was surprised to hear Orlando so sceptical, but then again, he is a better judge than I am about when it is wise to start to look at a situation sideways, and if I could see that Raphael had secrets, then certainly he could as well. This particular argument though, personally I had my doubts about.
Raphael seemed to think himself on safe ground as well, and answered confidently enough, explaining that the elves and other elder folk have a long connection with the fae. It was the same account that he had given me back in Althia’s garden, and I saw no more reason to doubt it now than I had done then.
Both Sabali and Enessa, clearly sympathetic and generally keen that the situation be resolved, but without necessarily following, or even maybe caring about, the details of the accusations made, urged Raphael to share whatever secrets he was carrying, so that we could all just move on.
Raphael bristled a bit at that, and I could understand why. He pointed out that we have barely known each other three weeks as yet, and that many of us have a past that we might not gladly own every part of at first meetings. He glared rather pointedly at Wind here, although I thought that she would gladly regale him with every clever trick and sneaky deal she had ever done, had he the patience to hear it.
He concluded by asking that we judge him on his actions, rather than on this one conversation with the sprite, however we might feel about it. That gave everyone pause I think, for Raphael’s actions do indeed speak loudly in his defence. Even Zeni, who had been the one to cast the first cloud of suspicion seemed to reconsider her position. She nodded, acknowledging the justice of the claim, and made a creditable effort to draw a line under the matter there. Would we be better off if it had worked, I don’t know.
In an attempted gesture of reconciliation, Zeni bent to retrieve the sword and return it to its owner. Before she could touch it, Raphael gave a sharp exclamation and reached down as though to forestall her, but her hand remained in the air above the weapon, hovering uncertainly. ‘It is a magical sword which is attuned to me, and it would do you no good to touch it’ Raphael explained quickly, all the nervousness returned to his voice. Zeni shrugged at that, straightened, and gestured to the sword, indicating that as she far as she was concerned Raphael could take it at his leisure.
Sensing that perhaps not everyone was as willing as Zeni to leave things as they stood, now that they had begun, Raphael tried again to defend his connection with the fae. It was hardly unusual, he said, for elven folk to have such associations, given the long history of closeness between Syngorn and the Faewild. He looked to Enessa, asking whether the drow too had such attachments, and in answer she allowed a few tongues of blue and green flame to play across her fingers. ‘This, I believe, is fae’ she said, snuffing it out with a twist of her hand.
Sabali tried again to smooth the waters, by suggesting that we all have some darker aspects to our natures and that this was not so strange, and, this time, he met with a little more success. Raphael said something then which has stuck with me, that he had already done well to trust us with so much. It was an interesting choice of words, in the circumstances.
Orlando, as I suspect Raphael may perhaps have observed, is often moved by an appeal to privacy, secrets being something of a sensitive issue for him as well, and this argument did seem to hit home. Acknowledging that it would be hypocritical of him to press too hard into the business of another, he asked only that Raphael consider the true value of his secrets, especially if they might bring danger down on our heads. At this Raphael nodded earnestly, and Orlando finally relaxed his stance, seemingly satisfied that the moment of confrontation had passed, at least for now.
I was relieved to see it, but not so sure that it was over. After all, nothing we had heard seemed to touch on the heart of what was making people uneasy, or indeed on the source of Raphael’s obvious nerves. So what if he had connections to the fae? He’d hardly tried to hide that, yet he was certainly hiding something.
Even so, whatever truths might still lay hidden, I had no wish to continue the conversation, if such it could be called, in this style. Everyone has the right to speak their mind, of course, and I was not about to stop them, but everything about this felt wretched.
I looked at Arin, and saw that he was frowning. I think that, like me, he suspected that we had not yet got close to the real trouble. Worthy devotee of Ioun as he is, that clearly did not sit well with him. Speaking for the first time since the parley had started, he walked up to Raphael, stood before him and looked him dead in the eye. His words, as near as I can remember them, were as follows - ‘We are all allowed our secrets, but there are inconsistencies in your story which I find troubling. You have done nothing to provoke my ire as yet, but I am watching you.’
Raphael’s face is always hard to read, but I think this last judgement troubled him much more than the various specific charges, which he had batted away plausibly enough, if not to everyone’s satisfaction. He glanced around the group, trying to judge how things stood, but when he met my eyes, I looked away. He was lying, and we both knew it, but even so, this treatment had been unworthy.
Turning back to Arin, Raphael then made a rather extraordinary offer. He would, so he said, answer one question truthfully now, and then if we had a chance later perhaps we could discuss it all further. Now, it’s hard to know for sure the spirit in which this was intended. It may be, and I very much hope that this was the case, that Raphael, seeing that the questions asked so far had done little to change the underlying dynamic of suspicion, offered this as a sincere invitation to address whatever darker fears people might still be holding back, and to provide what reassurance he could. On the other hand, a more sceptical eye might see it as an admission that he had not been truthful up to this point, and yet in the same breath, was offering to vouch for the veracity of whatever he was going to say next.
Whichever was the case, it seemed to me that it would be better to save any further discussion for a less stressful time, once we had all had a chance to gather our thoughts and take time to reflect. For myself, I was in no hurry to conclude a judgement. But then, perhaps it is only that my mind works more slowly than some, and I needed a chance to catch up with what others could already see clearly.
Raphael gathered up his sword, fastening the belt around his waist and settling the weapon on his hip as he walked a little way off. The rest of us stood, feeling, for my part at least, rather awkward. I had no great wish to play my allotted part in whatever new game this was. The reactions of the others were varied - Enessa seemed equally disinclined to participate, although for reasons of her own, no doubt. Wind had a great number of questions ready, none of them terribly relevant to the current circumstances (although I must admit that some of them did raise my curiosity). Zeni declared herself satisfied with the answers she had already received and, perhaps, a little regretful about what she had started, she left the conversation at that.
That left Orlando, Sabali and Arin, who discussed earnestly what they should ask. I pointed out that if Raphael was truly a liar, as they supposed, then there was no real merit in this proposal. Anything he told us now would be suspect, and would only serve to muddy the water further. Since we all agreed that his actions spoke well for him, then for now at least we should let them speak, as he had asked us, each drawing our own conclusions, and be done with it.
However, after some discussion, it was agreed that all three were very doubtful about Raphael’s claim to follow the Moonweaver, and so they resolved to ask him who he truly served.
It was a radical charge, and it gave voice to a suspicion that I had so far hesitated to put into words, even to myself. I felt a weight form in the pit of my stomach at the thought of it, but I had to admit that it made some sense. The problem would remain, however, that if we discovered that he had indeed lied about his status as a servant of the Moonweaver, which, after all, formed the foundation of everything else that he had told us, then what was the point in encouraging him to speak further? Inviting more lies at this point seemed to me more likely to undermine any future trust than to build it.
I looked over at Raphael, and saw that his head was bent in conversation with Enessa, who was nodding sympathetically at something that he had said. She rose as we approached and sat off to one side, watching curiously, her hands buried in Ussi’s thick fur, and her bow within easy reach. I wondered what she made of all this fuss over the significance of one sort of magic or another. Not much, I guessed.
Arin took the lead now, as was proper in the circumstances. If anyone had the right to ask for such a confession, it was a priest of knowledge. His face was grave, but not unkind, as he looked down at Raphael, who came quickly to his feet. Raphael’s slender frame seemed slightly bowed with the pressure of the situation, and the set of his shoulders was tense. He glanced at the holy signs embroidered on my surcoat, and Arin’s, and then, just for a second, at the sword slung at my belt. If I had not known better, I might have thought that he still feared that the worst might happen, and that I would be a part of it. I hoped very much that he did not think that. It seemed absurd that he should feel threatened by me, or by any of us, when we have fought side by side so many times now.
‘We don’t need to know all your secrets’ Arin said, in measured, even tones, ‘but we must know, who truly is your mistress? For I do not believe that it is the Moonweaver.’
Raphael’s face grew a shade paler at these words, and he swallowed hard before answering, his gaze locked on Arin’s face and almost radiating sincerity. I should say that if this was a performance then it was an exceptional one, but then I knew well enough that the devil, were he there to be found, would most likely be in the details, or in what was not said at all.
‘My Goddess is not the Moonweaver, she is the Raven Queen. She who stands watch at the borders between the living and the dead.’
Steeled, as I had imagined that I was, not to react to what was most likely going to be a further pack of lies, even so I could not help but feel a brief surge of intense relief. If this was true, then there was no shame in serving the Black Lady. Her followers walked a hard and lonely path, no doubt, but their work was necessary and honourable. If he truly were a knight of the Raven Queen, then we had no reason to quarrel. But, then… why the secrecy?
Apparently anticipating this question, Raphael continued hurriedly ‘I have travelled in this guise because the Raven Queen’s followers are not welcomed in society. Talk of death, or her servants, makes people uncomfortable after all.’ He continued along the same lines for a little longer, until Arin nodded, satisfied for now at least.
I thought about this account, and initially I found it unlikely. In Vasselheim, the followers of the Raven Queen live openly, and are honoured. Their ways are strange, and people are often wary of them, it is true, but they are accepted fully as a part of the city. As indeed, death, and passage beyond the veil, are acknowledged as integral parts of life. On the other hand, here in Tal’Dorei I have noticed that things can be different. People often choose to do their best to ignore the reality and inevitability of death, and so the Dark Queen’s men and women are often feared and even shunned. It would be a hard life here for any solitary priest or knight, and perhaps the temptation to wear a false cloak to gain a measure of acceptance might at times be hard to overcome.
One thing that we know for sure is that Raphael has been lying from the day that I met him on the road to Drynna. For how long before that he has kept up this ruse I do not know. Lies, in my experience, almost always cause more problems than they solve, but a lie in itself is no great sin (unless the liar has of his own will sworn himself to a different standard of course). The evil comes when the lie is intended to do harm, or does harm carelessly. Now, this lie is a deep one, and has a huge potential to do harm, but Raphael has done nothing, to my knowledge, to disgrace the Moonweaver’s name, or to cast doubt on the conduct of her people. Quite the reverse. Since I have known him he has always behaved like a true knight.
What then to make of this story of the Raven Queen? Hard to say. He has power from somewhere, that’s for sure. A lot of power. I doubt that any one of the rest of us would be a match for him one on one. If he is a sworn paladin, or a priest, of the Raven Queen, then all is well. His story of travelling incognito, wrapped up in falsehoods to gain the simple grace of welcome, I have some doubts about, but then, I have never tried to walk such a friendless road myself, so who am I to judge? The ways of the Mistress of Darkness have ever been obscure and shrouded, after all, and the work of her servants difficult and dangerous.
However, I fear that it is not so simple. My foremost concern at this point, is that the power he wields may come, in fact, from some other source. Such power typically comes with a price. At its best, the price is one that is a joy to pay - for instance, the power which springs from my own holy oath is fed by adherence to principles which it is my honour to uphold. Arin’s strength is granted him by Ioun for a similarly worthy offering, I have no doubt. But I know very well that there are powers which will exact a far less wholesome tribute in exchange for some portion of their strength. Even the best of men may be lured into such traps. If Raphael’s power is not divine at all, as I strongly suspect that it is not, then what is it? If he is not bound by sacred oath, or dedicated to worship as a priest, then what has he given of himself to earn that power; if the blade was not a gift of the Moonweaver, then where is it from?
------
Having drawn a line under the fraught subject of Raphael’s possible allegiances, for the moment at least, the discussion turned back to how to deal with Barithia, and the whole question of the hags.
Orlando, his mind seemingly jogged by something in the conversation, recalled a rather chilling account he once heard about how new hags are created, although couldn’t vouch for its accuracy. Apparently, when a hag wants to reproduce, she steals a child, either a newborn babe, or even one yet in its mother’s womb. She consumes this infant, taking it into her own body, and in time she herself gives birth. The creature that emerges from this process is a changeling of sorts. It appears human (or of whatever race the original child was born into) until its 13th birthday, and indeed the child is often returned to the unknowing parents to be raised by them in that time. When it turns 13, the child transforms into a hag, identical in appearance to the one that had spawned it.
This was a pretty dark tale, but it was hard to know it was even partly true. In its favour, it would account for Althia and Barithia’s appearances being identical, and perhaps also for the transformation of the spirit’s features as it had died. Moonflake had also referred to the three as sisters, and perhaps these were the offspring of one ‘parent’ hag. Alternatively, they could be mother and daughters of course, or perhaps even represent three such generations.
If Barithia had taken a child in this way, then that certainly would be a crime which would demand judgement, but, as yet, we had no conclusive evidence than she had done anything of the sort. This was just one of the growing list of things which we would need to know more about before we would have a chance of understanding how best to help to mend this situation.
Some members of the group remained in favour of speaking with Barithia, even though we now had reason to think that she was a hag, but others argued for an immediate attack, or for a ruse to draw her out into the open where she could be killed more easily. Raphael cautioned in any event against telling her our names, or accepting food or drink from her hand, or even entering her dwelling as a guest, should we later mean to do her harm.
I listened carefully to all of this discussion, and came to a resolution of my own, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that I came to a realisation. Given how recent events had worked out, I knew that I needed to speak out more strongly, and if I could, to at least set some boundaries on what was happening.
This was not very easy for me. I have always preferred to walk my own path, and to allow others to walk theirs. Offering help or mending harms whenever I can, of course, but not presuming to direct their steps, unless some wrong demanded justice. But now, it seems, that may no longer be enough. If I am to travel further with others, not of the church, then I will need to find a new way to navigate such matters. Perhaps I should have spoken up sooner than this, I don’t know, but then, my mind has always needed time to work things through, and this was only now becoming clear to me.
I will set it all out for you here, as frankly as I can, and to the best of my recall, and then you can be the judge. I truly wish that you were here, to tell me if you think I did well or ill.
In summary, at least, this is what I tried to say. That there had been far too many lies already, and that, at this point, with matters as they now lay, I would stand for no more falsehoods. No more incitements either, and no attacks without good cause. If we had to fight then we would do so, of course, and bravely, I had no doubt. But, until that time we should deal with Barithia, or with anyone else for that matter, honestly, and in good faith. If it was at all possible (and if she did not attack us on sight), then we needed to talk openly with her first, before anything else could be decided. If I had to, then I would go alone to meet her, but either way, she must be given the chance to speak.
As I spoke, my confidence grew stronger that this was the right path, and yet, I could see that I would need the goodwill of everyone here if I were to have any chance of success. If I led Barithia into a parley, and then she was betrayed by an unprovoked strike by one of my comrades, then that stain would be on my conscience. This was new ground to me, placing my honour into the hands of others, and I was not at all sure what to make of the feelings it evoked. I had trusted these people with my life several times now, and they had not let me down, but this required a different sort of faith.
People were looking at me then, a bit surprised, I think, by the finality in my tone. I was somewhat uncomfortable under their gaze, but I stood my ground, and they seemed to accept my words, or at least to realise that I was not going to change my mind. Raphael again repeated his caution about the revealing of names, and the other matters, and I nodded in agreement that there would be wisdom in taking these precautions at least.
We set out to cover the last short distance to Berithia’s house, and stopped at the edge of the wide clearing in which it stood. It was a single dwelling, built on stilts in the mud of a shallow pool, much like the homes that we had seen in Bel, although of much sturdier construction, the wood weathered and hardened. There were a set of steps leading up to a wide veranda on three sides of the house, with a door on the left hand side from where we stood.
On the walk to this place, from where we had fought the eelhounds, my heart had been beating fast, and I had felt my stomach churning with nerves. A lot was wrong here, and it seemed that Barithia was at the heart of things. A judgement would be needed, one way or another. This was exactly the sort of thing which I had been sent out into the world to do, but now, I doubted that I was ready. Looking with honesty at my own heart, I had to acknowledge that I was afraid of Barithia, and of what she might do, afraid that I would be unable to help her to find her way back into the light, if that were even possible, and afraid at the same time of drawing my comrades into danger by insisting that we try to reason with a potential monster.
And yet. Now that we were actually here, standing before the cottage, I felt a renewed sense of clarity and purpose which gave me strength. Making this attempt to hear her side of the story was the right thing to do, whether or not it succeeded.
Here, it was agreed, we would part company for a little while at least. I was prepared, as I had said, to go up to the house on my own, leaving the others to observe the outcome and then, if it did not go well, to act accordingly, as they saw fit. I knew, after all, that many of them, and Enessa in particular, I thought, judged that this plan to speak to a possible hag in earnest was unwise, even foolhardy. But, in the end, and to my relief, I did not have to face Barithia alone.
It was Raphael, his tone unusually subdued and diffident, who offered to join me, if I were willing to accept his company. He seemed almost hesitant to ask, as if half-expecting a sharp refusal. I said that of course I wanted him there, if he was prepared to take the risk of it. After all, he knew more than any of the rest of us about the fae, and from what I had seen so far, he was the most likely of my companions to actually try to prevent a conflict before it started. He looked visibly relieved when I agreed, and I reflected that perhaps he had read more into my earlier silence than merely an unwillingness to reach a hasty judgement under difficult conditions.
Arin too, volunteered to come with us, and I felt a lot better again at that. Should a conflict prove unavoidable, we would be a formidable trio, and one well trained and prepared to face an unholy foe if that is what we faced. The others would remain outside, hidden amongst the trees or swamp weeds, ready to launch ranged attacks if needed, or to run, I supposed, if the situation looked hopeless. Before we parted ways, I spoke quickly and quietly to Orlando, asking him to see to it that Zeni made her peace with Melora, if this all went poorly. He tipped his hat in acknowledgement, and flashed that warm and reassuring smile of his, as he retreated to his chosen hiding place among the rushes.
And so, we approached the steps to the cottage, weapons stowed and shields slung onto packs. I hope that we looked like what we were, a peaceful embassy, and not a raiding party. Before we set foot on the wooden boards, Arin and I took a moment to cast prayers for protection, and to sense any magic or unholy workings in the place.
I had raised my hand to knock, when a voice came from within. Althia’s voice, or so it seemed. She spoke in friendly enough tones, telling us that the door was open. Drawing it back, and looking in, I could see a simple room, with a table and chair, and various papers and other domestic items in their places. At the far end of the room, a woman who looked exactly like Althia sat, and smiled kindly in apparent welcome. I extended my divine sense, looking for any signs of undead, like the spectre we had fought at Bel, but I found nothing out of the ordinary.
The woman acknowledged that she was indeed Barithia, and invited us to step into her home. It was a courteous invitation, and to ignore it felt churlish, but, remembering the cautions about the fae, I remained outside. I apologised for my rudeness, but gave her the candid explanation I had been warned not to enter, and that I dared not disregard such counsel. She narrowed her eyes at that, but said nothing. I said that we wished only to speak with her, and asked whether she might be willing to step outside to talk with us for a few minutes. She laughed at that, saying that it would be unwise in the extreme for her to set foot beyond her door. She said that she could feel the eyes of the marksmen on her already, and I had to admit the logic in what she said. It did not make sense for her to expose herself to danger when she did not need to.
We agreed to speak as we were, she inside, and us beyond the door. She asked us why we had come, and I explained that we had visited the village of Bel, and that there they had told us about her. I also mentioned the recent deaths there, and the visit of the banshee last night. I was rather wary about introducing this topic, if indeed the spectre had once been her sister, but she clearly knew all about it already. ‘Well, you have put a stop to that, I hear’ she said, and her voice sounded somewhat caustic, but not exactly angry. More like bitterly resigned perhaps, maybe even sorrowful. I took that as a hopeful sign, because the spirit we had dispatched had truly been in agony, that had been clear even in the short time we had encountered it. If she had loved her sister, then to see her suffer like that must have been appalling. I hoped that Barithia could see that we had done the spectre no wrong by ending such an tormented existence, and I thought that maybe she could.
I spoke next about the city of Drynna, and the plague which was causing its people so much unhappiness. At that her expression changed, becoming much harder, the bitterness now clearly stamped on her features. ‘Good!’ she almost spat. This was disturbing, to say the least, but I stayed as calm as I could, and simply asked her why she would say that, when so many innocent lives might be lost if nothing could be done to help them.
She surprised me then by asking how old I was. It seemed like a complete non-sequitur, and I hoped very much that this was not another piece of personal information that it was unwise to share with the fae. I glanced at Raphael, but his expression gave me no obvious guidance. At that, and seeing no reasonably polite alternative, I owned to my thirty four summers. ‘So young!’ she exclaimed, and I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or not. ‘Your accent is not from here either… Vasselheim I would judge’ and I inclined my head to acknowledge the accuracy of her guess. ‘So’ she concluded, ‘‘you won’t know then, what happened here, when the dragons came?’
Now, perhaps you know more than I do about this, but I was utterly lost for a moment, until I remembered that some twenty years before, when I had been barely more than a child, chromatic dragons had laid waste to parts of Tal’Dorei, and great battles had been fought in many places on this side of the sea. I knew only the barest outline of this history, and nothing at all about what had passed in this distant corner of the land.
I shook my head, apologising for my ignorance. ‘Ask them!’ she replied, ‘ask them what we did, and what they promised us, and now they have the gall to call us monsters! And you tell me that they are good? Ask them in Drynna, what they have done to us..’ She seemed to grow melancholy again at that, and to tail off into her own thoughts. Her emotions were erratic, and her mind seemed scattered, fractured perhaps by whatever pain she was trying to give voice to now.
I promised that I would indeed ask them in Drynna about what had happened (and so I will), but added as gently as I could that Drynna was a week’s journey away, maybe more, and that perhaps, for the sake of convenience, she might tell me herself what had occurred. The story she told was disjointed and hard to follow, but not wholly an invention, if I am any judge.
‘When they needed our help, when the dragons came, we gave it, we lent our magics to their defence in exchange for their promises! Who saved them then? Who protected their homes? We did. It was us. But in the end their promises were worth nothing. You see what they have done to us now….they say that we are the monsters…and then again perhaps we are...’
Broken and twisted as her words were, a great sense of wrong, of injustice even, was clearly threaded through them. But, that sense of injury, even if justified as it may perhaps have been, had clearly festered over the years until Barithia could no longer distinguish between those who actually had committed the offence, and those innocents who were now living in Drynna, even including the many children, and even adults, who were far too young to have had any active part in whatever had occurred twenty years before.
I could see that Barithia’s mind was quite far gone in trauma, maybe even in madness, but still I held out a small hope that if we could show her that we were able to understand the injustice which she and her sisters had suffered, then perhaps we could help her to see that inflicting pain on further innocents was not the way to remedy it. If we could guide her to make peace with what had happened, hard as that might be, then perhaps she would agree to leave Drynna and its people alone, and could even herself find a measure of healing. It seemed a slim hope, but still a possible one - she was offering a rationale here, after all, not just indiscriminate malevolence.
Before I could marshall the arguments however, she stood, and another emotional sea change seemed to sweep her features. Speaking with resolution now, she continued ‘Whatever happens now, my time here is at an end. You may help yourself to anything you can find.’ As she said the last, she seemed to shimmer in the air for a moment, and then, to my great surprise, she simply vanished.
We looked at one another, and at the now apparently empty room before us. Arin quickly used his magic to search as best he could, but could find absolutely no trace of her at all. I called out from the edge of the platform, to the others waiting outside, that we had spoken civilly with Barithia, but that now she had vanished into thin air. I hoped that they would be on their guard, because now she could be anywhere at all.
With some evident trepidation, Arin stepped into Barithia’s modest dwelling and had a look around. He found a neatly arranged packet of dried and preserved herbs of many different varieties which he seemed to find very interesting, and also a collection of scraps of writing in an elvish script. He brought these back outside to show to Raphael and I, and also to Sabali, who by this time had joined us by the cottage. This was the sylvan tongue once again, and Raphael rather tentatively offered to read it out to us. Mindful, no doubt, of the controversy that the language had caused earlier, he read carefully and slowly, indicating any points where the translation might be in doubt or the script difficult to follow. He was doing his best, I think, to make it clear that he was omitting nothing, and adding nothing to what was written. For all his caution, I knew very well that he could still easily have fooled me that way if he had had a mind to, but perhaps it was not so with Arin.
I will set it down here, as Raphael reported it, so that you can judge for yourself what to make of it.
It has been too long, sat in this hateful place. When the dragons came, they looked to us... prayed that we would help! When we did, they "allowed" us to stay. Allowed.... ALLOWED? How dare they...
It is not our fault we were cursed... stolen from our mother's wombs before we were born, and turned into... well... monsters are we? Then I shall show them monsters!
...
Althia has left. So be it. We didn't need her anyway. She has her own plans for Drynna...
....
We will take that poxy town down piece by piece! Seleena has started taking townsfolk... we will keep them in the swamp, and drive them mad! Then they will return, and tear that stinking hole into the mud.
...
This isn't right. It isn't fair, I never asked for this...
...
I killed Seleena today. It had to be done.
...
I'll save those I can. Keep them safe here. Those that understand. The rest, I will send to Mother Winter herself. Why turn them mad, when I can sap their life energy. The curse will not be lifted. If some die, then they die...
...
Seleena is back... Somehow...
...
So... Drynna has sent people to see what's happened? The swamp is mine! Even without the rest of the creatures here, I can call forth more. It is only a matter of time.
There were many curious aspects to these writings, but It was the mention of Althia’s ‘plans’ that concerned us the most. Did they bode well or ill for the people of Drynna? What of the potions brewed from the dried ephedra which we had delivered with our own hands? In reality though, there was absolutely nothing that we could do about that at the moment, so we tried to focus on the problem at hand.
Arin went back inside the hut, probably to have more of a look around, while Sabali, Raphael and I remained outside, and continued to discuss the possible significance of the fragmented texts. We were so absorbed in our task that we did not at first notice the door of the hut slowly closing behind us, not until we heard a sharp cry of alarm from Sabali, followed by the sound of a bolt sliding home. By that point the door was locked, and with Arin still on the other side. We looked at one another in appalled realisation at what had happened.
Listening, we could hear Barithia’s voice coming from within the house, asking again why we had come, and Arin’s replies, calm and measured as always, explaining that we did not seek a conflict with her, but only to lift the curse on the people of Drynna.
She answered, sounding almost in despair, that to end the curse would end her. It chilled me to hear that, because if it was true, and she really had bound her life force to the curse, then we would almost certainly have no choice but to kill her in order to save the people of the town. Those who had followed her, she said - by which I think she meant the people of Bel - would live and be safe out here in the swamp, even as those in Drynna would die.
This last had sounded like she was reasoning, almost bargaining, with Arin, but then her voice became softer, as if pleading for his understanding. ‘They stole us you know, before we were born. We never asked for this, never asked to be monsters…. we killed the ones that did it to us, we killed them… but perhaps we are monsters even so…’
By this point, Raphael was pushing with all his might against the door, trying to break it open with main force, but it wasn’t budging. He indicated that I should help him, but I could still hear Arin’s steady voice within, advocating for the people of Drynna. He didn’t sound panicked, or in any distress as yet, and as long as there was the slightest possibility that he could succeed, I wanted to give him that chance.
If even part of what Barithia had said was true, and I thought that it probably was, then she and her sisters had been grievously wronged in all of this as well. Not only by whatever deal had been reneged upon, but by the very circumstances of their creation. If Arin could find a way to help her to step away from her misplaced vengeance, and instead to set it right, then that was holy work indeed, none more so. No doubt, Arin was afraid, trapped in there alone with the hag, but I did not think that his fear would keep him from his duty. On the other hand, I also understood that it was largely my fault that this had happened, and if I could have changed places with him, then I would have done it in a heartbeat.
I don’t know exactly why it happened then, perhaps just another turn of an unstable mind, but Barithia’s voice suddenly hardened, becoming cold and hostile, almost mocking. ‘The thing is, your gnome friend isn’t as well hidden as he thinks he is, she sneered, and then laughed unpleasantly. I felt a sharp stab of alarm at that, and spun around, looking out across the water. Had I misjudged where the danger truly lay? It seemed that I had.
Rising from the shallows by the reed beds close to where Orlando had concealed himself were three hideous creatures, apparently congealing from the very muck of the swamp itself. They seemed to know exactly where Orlando was, and, reaching through the concealing screen of reeds, they set about him with teeth and claws. I saw him take several nasty hits, but he was (as is often the case with Orlando) tougher than they had expected. After a few moments he was able to get clear of them, running full tilt, with the things in hot pursuit. I was leaning out over the railing of the platform, looking for the best place to jump down, when one of the things turned back and spat something which hit me full in the face.
Where it touched my skin, it prickled and stung, although not badly enough to be doing much damage, I didn’t think. It had, however, effectively blinded me. Once the stuff was in my eyes, my vision blurred and clouded so much that I could see nothing but the fuzziest outlines of shapes and colours. Practically useless in a combat situation. I hoped that it would clear soon, but until it did, I didn’t know how much help I could be to Orlando or to anyone else. It was not a good feeling to be so helpless in the middle of a fight, to say the least.
It was only moments later, however, that Raphael, sensing my discomfort I suppose, reached over and tried to help me. His touch was icy cold - and I don’t mean that as hyperbole, I literally felt crystals of ice forming on my eyelashes and eyebrows as his fingers tried to clear whatever foul stuff the creature had hit me with. It might have helped my eyes a bit, I’m not sure, but even if it had done nothing at all for my vision, it was a very kind and rather unexpected gesture, and I took heart from it.
I could hear the battle with the swamp-beasts going on in and around the water below, but I could tell pretty much nothing about how it was going. I could hear that Bayou was still firing, so that offered reassurance that Orlando was still on his feet at least. Jumping off the platform was now no longer a practical option for me, so I focused on what I might actually be able to help with, which was to get through the door to Arin. The irony was not lost on me that this was the selfsame threshold that I had been so pleased to have remembered not to cross just ten minutes before, but sometimes that is how it goes. I aimed a kick at where I judged the weak point of the door might be, but without being able to see it properly, it was hard to strike at the right angle. I felt the wood splinter, and I drew my foot back from what was clearly now a hole, but the main part of the door itself was still very much intact.
Louder now, I could hear Arin’s voice from inside. It was laced with power and rang out sternly, targeting the hag with a single command, ‘FLEE’, backed with a divine authority that would surely be hard to resist. I couldn’t see what had happened of course, but judging by the lack of reaction around me, no fleeing hag left the building, which was a pity, because if it had worked, it would have saved a lot of door-related frustration. A moment later I heard splintering wood and breaking glass from the side of the cottage, and the thump of a mailed body landing on wooden planks. Had Arin managed to escape the hag by jumping out of the closed window on the far side of the room? It was a striking feat of athleticism if he had done so, and one which even Sabali might have been impressed by.
The sounds of battle were all around me still, but I could register none of the details with my eyes still hopelessly blurred. I tried the door again, a shoulder slam this time, but with no more success. I could feel the wood bending a little at the impact, but it was well made and stood firm.
Barithia started to cast some sort of dark magic through the gap in the planks of the door, and so I ducked quickly to the side, flattening myself against the wall to avoid it. As my eyes finally cleared, although they were still stinging and watery, I noticed that Arin and Raphael had done much the same on the other side. It looked from what I could see like the group on the bank had managed to dispatch all of the swamp creatures, which was a great relief. Ussi had climbed up to join us on the platform, and was now looking rather expectantly at the door.
Arin swung his mace at it, and managed to leave a small dent but nothing more substantial. This was becoming ridiculous. I tried again, shoving hard with my shield this time, and... nothing. I began to consider whether this door might be enchanted in some way that had so far escaped detection.
I wondered where Sabali had gone, but then I heard noises up on the roof, followed by a crash from the side of the house where Arin had broken the window. It sounded like a fierce struggle might be going on back there, and I hoped that he was all right.
A firebolt streaked out from somewhere in the trees, Zeni’s work, I guessed, and hit the door at an angle. It was now slightly singed on one side, but remained totally serviceable as a barrier to entry. Ussi looked up at me, and then at Arin, questioningly, as if asking what we were waiting for. I shrugged, and, given my total lack of success so far, made a sort of ‘after you’ gesture. Arin nodded and was gearing up for another swing of his mace, when we heard a shout from Enessa, who was still back somewhere out of sight. ‘Get her, Ussi!’ Enessa commanded, ‘Go get the hag!’
On hearing this, Ussi approached the door, and placed one large paw in the rough hole. I was immediately worried that he might get hit by Barithia’s magic if he sat there for too long, but there was no real need for me to worry, because it really didn’t take much time at all. Bracing himself, Ussi sort of ripped at the sides of the hole with his teeth and claws, tearing at the ragged edges, which gradually became ever wider and more fractured until what was left in the doorframe was reduced almost to kindling. He hadn’t so much bashed in the door, as we had tried to do, as shredded it.
We still had the hag to deal with of course, and this was obviously a very serious situation, but even so, this business with the door suddenly struck me as very funny. Perhaps I had just been too tense for too long, and any release was welcome, but I couldn’t help myself from grinning broadly, and probably rather foolishly, at Arin and Raphael. Mighty warriors all, we had just been totally upstaged by a panther. I suppose that sometimes life just likes to make sure that you understand your proper place in the grand scheme of things. I bent to scratch at Ussi’s ears for a moment in thanks, and he pushed his large head against my legs, purring a loud rumble of satisfaction at his work. As well he might.
Once I was finally able to get through the remains of the doorway, I was startled to see Sabali already engaged in fierce hand to hand combat with a creature who I supposed must be Barithia in her true hag form. She now looked very much like the monster which she had apparently tried so hard not to become, and was raking at Sabali's face with long, vicious claws. I don't know how long he had been there - he must have been able to climb in the window somehow I supposed - but although somewhat bruised and bloodied, he seemed to be holding his own. Once the door was clear, Arin, Raphael and I crowded into the small room, surrounding Barithia on all sides.
Before we were able to get the better of her, she vanished again, shimmering into thin air and leaving nothing for our blades to strike. Sabali gave a low growl of anger, which gave voice to a sense of frustration which everyone felt. She seemed almost to be playing with us.
Fortunately, Zeni seemed to have someway of tracking her movements this time, because she let out a shout, and I could see that she was pointing directly back the way that we had come, towards the village of Bel….
In which Zeni makes a confession
25th Quen'Pillar
Well, it turns out that last night I was rather too optimistic about getting to sleep. Once I had finished writing my last entry, I could still hear voices outside. Not just a couple of people on watch, but a fairly heated conversation between a few people about what to make of what Sabali had seen, and whether anything might be done about it right then and there. I stuck my head out of the tent and suggested people might like to go to bed, but it was clear that the energy of the fight was not yet spent, and that people needed something to do for a bit longer yet. For myself, I was more than ready to sleep, and if I could have blocked the chatter out and drifted off I would have done so, but it was loud enough that it was impossible to ignore once I was no longer concentrating on writing. And pretty soon the content made it hard to ignore as well, so I pulled my blankets around me and reluctantly left the shelter of the tent and joined the people standing about in the rain.
At the point that I started to pay proper attention, someone had asked Zeni what she had made of Althea during the time they had spent together while we were in Drynna. A reasonable question - after all, spending so much time with a banshee, or a hag, or some such creature, should, you might think, have given some sort of clue that something was wrong. Anyway, there was a bit of waffling here, but to cut a long story short, Zeni confessed, in an almost offhand way, to having stolen money from Melora’s altar in the forest. She said that Althea had told her to return what she had taken, and that she had done so - offering this as evidence of Althea’s apparent good nature. A rather awkward silence followed this revelation. For myself, I was much too tired to process this now, let alone engage with it. It had the potential to be a huge new problem, but Zeni didn’t seem to see it, and I had absolutely no energy for that conversation before I had had any sleep. Everyone sort of tacitly agreed to worry about it later.
It was suggested that someone cast a magical detection spell to see if we could find anything else unusual in the area, Zeni did so, and reported feeling some sort of echo or residue from the banshee, which surprised her. I thought it was strange too - undead with an origin like that of the banshee’s apparent story aren’t created by arcane means, and so you wouldn’t normally expect them to leave a magical trace. If this one did, it might possibly point to a different sort of origin, or to magic being used to control or modify its behaviour.
Raphael claimed that he might have another way to find out more, but, to my great relief, this seemed to be a plan for tomorrow rather than right then. The conversation tailed off after that, and everyone, save those on watch, settled to their tents or bedrolls.
This conversation had given me a lot to think about, and if I hadn’t been so exhausted I’m sure I would have lain awake worrying about all this new information, but as it was I think I was asleep before five minutes had passed. It was a deep and restful sleep, one that I had badly needed, and in the morning I woke feeling much restored. I opened the tent flap an inch and peered out, hoping that Arin and Wind, taking the last watch, might have some coffee brewing (last time they had been on watch together I had asked Wind whether she had enjoyed it, and I wasn’t really sure what to make of the look she gave me in response). To my surprise, I saw that Orlando was already up and not only had he made coffee, but he had also been casting new bullets for Bayou in the hot embers of the fire. I emerged blinking into the morning light, filled my own mug, and the two of us went a little way around the lake to talk and drink our coffee in peace.
Once we had found a reasonably dry place to sit, he asked me in confidential tones whether I had heard what Zeni had said the night before, and I said that I had, but I’d not really had much of a chance to get to grips with it yet. He and she had been on watch together for a couple of hours last night, and he said that he had taken the opportunity to raise it with her. I can’t tell you how glad I was to hear that - Orlando is absolutely the best person to have that sort of conversation when it needs to be had. I don’t know how many times Orlando has helped me to see things differently with a few well chosen words at the right moment. He has a wise head on his shoulders, and a kind heart, and I’ve always been the better for his counsel.
Anyway, he said that at first she had tried to lie about it, saying that she hadn’t realised that it was a shrine. I almost spat out my coffee at that, because Zeni had literally watched me and Arin pay our respects to the Wildmother there, and had even left her own offering. The idea that she didn’t understand what we were doing is ridiculous. Apparently, that is what Orlando had thought as well, and he had basically told her not to insult him with such transparent falsehoods. He’d tried, after that, to set her feet on a better path, explaining that she had to have a mind to the consequences of her actions, not just for herself, but for others as well. It sounded like he hadn’t pulled his punches, but still he wasn’t entirely sure how much had sunk in. Zeni had been very quiet, and he thought that he'd actually sensed something a little odd in her voice when she’d said that she wouldn’t want to see anyone come to harm because of her actions. She’d promised at least to think about what he said, and I hope very much that she will do that.
Encouraging as it was to hear that Orlando was giving Zeni good advice, I was (and am) still very worried about this situation. Even after making his home in Vasselhiem for so long, Orlando has never been a particularly religious man, and so I don't think that he fully appreciates the danger that Zeni may be in. Desecrating a shrine by stealing the offerings is no small thing, and simply repaying the silver is very unlikely to have closed the matter. (Especially since, by her own report, she did not do so on her own initiative but on the instructions of Althea - and the oddness of that, if she really is a hag, or a banshee, or anything of that ilk, is a whole other line of questions). As the smallest child in Vasselheim knows, money, or anything else, left to the gods acquires far more significance than its value in gold might suggest, it is a symbol of the reverence of the givers for the virtues of the deity who is honoured. Conversely, stealing those offerings is a symbol of dishonour, and rejection, of everything which that god or goddess stands for. It is a flagrant insult which invites just retribution, should the power in question be so inclined.
If this was an offence against Bahamut’s shrine, then I would expect there to be a consequence, unpleasant certainly, but it would be one that was proportionate, and which delivered a lesson which might serve to improve future conduct (which honestly would be well deserved). Melora and her people, on the other hand, are notoriously much harder to predict, and if she has a sense of proportion then it is governed only by own wild laws. Her response may be nothing, or it may be fatal. It may come tomorrow, or twenty years from now. Until things are set right, Zeni is at risk, and so, perhaps, are those around her.
Zeni will need to make amends to Melora herself, most likely via her acolytes, not to Althea (whatever or whoever she may be) and the avenues for doing that are very limited right now. Out here there are no priests of the Wildmother who might offer us guidance on what penance might be appropriate, and if there are ceremonies or offerings that might propitiate Her then I have no idea what they might be. Perhaps Arin knows more, but I doubt it, such knowledge is normally limited to initiates of the faith in question.
To make matters worse, we are out here in the wilderness, which is very much the heart of Melora’s domain. We’ve been here less than two days, and have so far been attacked by a crocodile, by giant lizards, and now by eelhounds (I will tell you all about those later). What is more, every one of these attacks has been a desperate one, and the beasts have fought to the death each time, even when normally one would have expected wild animals to flee once their own lives were in danger. Now, this could be a random coincidence, it could be something to do with the hunger generated by the Drynnan fever, or it could possibly be the creatures of Melora’s wildlands picking up on the dissonance created by Zeni’s sacrilege. Or something else entirely of course. Given how the last few days have gone, who knows what other problems are yet to come out of the woodwork...
Even if Orlando can persuade Zeni to behave more responsibly in future, this existing problem will remain. We will have to find a way to deal with it as soon as we return to Drynna, or sooner, if it can be managed. Until then I will do my best to watch Zeni’s back, but the truth is that there would probably be very little that I could do (except perhaps prevent her from making the situation any worse).
One thing that I would very much like to know the answer to is why she would do such a thing. Desperate poverty might at least partially excuse her, but when we left the spider caves Zeni had almost more silver than she could carry. Even without that, she had a secure place with Rebur, and no need to beg or steal stray coin. Orlando thinks that her rough start and her early life as a pirate may go some way to explain it, but I don’t know about that. For a sailor, pirate or not, to knowingly insult Melora comes close to a death wish. Even if she has never prayed herself (and I don’t know if she has), she must have seen her crewmates make prayers and offerings to Melora hundreds of times, hoping for fair winds and kind seas.
I know that in Vasselheim this would just be written off as the inevitable arrogance of a wizard, but to offer insult to a goddess for no reason at all goes way beyond arrogance and into lunacy. It makes no sense, and that troubles me.
Orlando and I were draining the dregs of our coffee, and shaking our heads like venerable grandfathers over the follies of young wizards, when Wind bounced up and announced that we needed to find more banshees, so that Arin could kill them. At least two, apparently, and ideally more. I have my doubts that this is exactly what Arin had wished for, and I wondered what conversational labyrinth might have preceded this rather radical conclusion. I know how to pick my battles though, and this is one mystery which I am content to leave unsolved.
We made our way back to the fire, where everyone was now up and breakfasting. Once the camp was struck, we made our way into the village to make our farewells and to get proper directions to Barithia’s house. There we found people preparing for a fishing trip, making ready small boats for what looked like an overnight journey. After the events of last night, that was brave, to say the very least, but no-one seemed to regard it as anything beyond the ordinary.
We wanted to see whether anyone might recognise Althea’s likeness, and so Zeni used her disguising spell to transform her own features into those of the apothecary. The shocked recognition on Jenna’s face was immediate, and she said something like ‘Oh, so you’ve met Barithia then?’. Zeni said that we had(!), why she lied about that I have no idea, but astonishingly, after a moment of uncertainty (and a somewhat tasteless diversion from Raphael), she seemed to accept it. That was just bizarre - we had all said yesterday, in so many words, that we did not know Barithia. Jenna must have heard us say so maybe a dozen times in different contexts - in fact, she herself was the one who first told us about Barithia. Why Zeni imagined she could lie about it is a minor puzzle, but how that lie came to be believed is a much bigger one. Normally I would of course have stepped in to correct this false impression, but I could see that there was no point. There was something stopping the inconsistency from registering fully with her - I think that she would probably have believed me, at least until someone said something else to contradict it, but it would have made no real difference in the end.
I had a very powerful demonstration of this fact almost immediately. Raphael, uncomfortable, I think, as I was about the precarious position these people were in, started trying to reason with her about returning to Drynna. She flat out refused to consider the possibility, on the grounds that Drynna was dangerous. We asked what sort of dangers she had in mind, and she couldn’t give us a single example, but the sense of threat was obviously clear and bright in her mind. Raphael gripped her shoulders and almost physically shook her, speaking fast and doing his best to let the conviction ring in his voice. It was something to see, the man knows how to talk, that’s for sure. It generated doubts in her, she could follow the arguments, and even seemed to connect emotionally with what was being said, but in the end something vital was still missing. It was very weird to see it in operation.
Listening to Raphael though, I did think that right now Jenna wasn’t entirely wrong. Although, a couple of months ago when she apparently formed this belief she had been wrong (as far as I know anyway). As things stand, Drynna is being slowly weakened by this novel disease, and it is unable to even muster the guards to defend its own dock workers from sahuagin attacks. It really isn’t a very safe place to be in all honesty (although Raphael was still right, it’s almost certainly much safer than here).
The thought crossed my mind that whatever had planted this belief in the dangerousness of Drynna might be one and the same thing that was causing the danger, or, alternatively, it might have advance knowledge of whatever was happening, and thought that getting people to move to Bel would be a way of protecting them from it. Either is plausible, although both of these stories have problems. More and more questions are piling up, and there are not nearly enough answers.
In the midst of all this doubt, Barithia seemed like the most promising lead we had, and so, armed now with detailed directions, we set out once again into the swamplands. Enessa led the way once again, sure-footed and skillful despite the lack of obvious landmarks. It was very reassuring to see, I am quite sure that without her talents to guide us we would have spent half our time, or more, wandering in circles.
Raphael was again hinting that he had some other way of getting more information, although he still wouldn’t tell us what it was. He just asked Enessa to stop when she guessed that we were half an hour or so from Barithia’s place, and said that he hoped that we would trust him. I have no idea what he is planning, but it’s the middle of the day, and given what he said in Drynna about the Moonweaver’s rites being performed only after sunset, it doesn’t seem like it would be the ideal time. I really hope it works though, whatever it is.
We had walked for almost that long when we came to another place where the trees opened up a bit, and the brackish water ran together into something like a small shallow lake. It looked like we could probably wade through it, but there was also enough space to make our way around the edge instead if we preferred. Most people opted to wade, but Wind was dead set against it, and so I joined her to go the long way around. The two of us had already made some headway, when a shout from behind us drew our attention back to the crossing point.
There was something moving in the water. At least two somethings, maybe more, all quite large. As is often seems to be the case in these situations, Raphael was the first to shout a warning, and he got the first shot in, but it hissed into the water without making contact. The things in the water sped up and now I could see that there were four distinct shapes. I looked around the space where Wind and I were standing, and could see nothing moving here at least. Wind could shoot from this position with no problem, but I needed to be closer if I was to be of any use in this fight. I started running back the way that we had come.
Orlando scrambled back out of the water, making it to the bank before the things could catch him, and turning and shooting at the closest one. The shot rang out, booming against the water and sending birds fluttering from the trees on the far side. The shot hit one of the creatures and it reared out of the water, giving us all a good look for at it for the first time. It was a sleek blue and purple shape, with a rubbery, patterned skin, an almost dog-like face, and torso, and jaws with far too many needle sharp teeth. I had seen pictures of these creatures before, although never encountered one in the flesh - these were eelhounds. Large ones, by the looks of it.
When the attack started, Raphael and Enessa had been leading the way, and the closest eelhounds focused on them. One went for Raphael, biting onto his upper leg and clinging on, while the other snapped at Enessa, unable to get a firm hold.
Raphael immediately struck back with his sword, stabbing down into the water. Purplish blood rose, bubbling around him, but the eelhound did not relinquish its grip. Sabali splashed over to lend his assistance, lashing out with fists and elbows, hurting it, I think, but doing nothing to loosen its jaws. These things were clearly tough.
Arin waded further out to meet them, swinging his mace and striking at the eelhound which was threatening Enessa, but it ducked down below the surface just in time and the force of the blow was mostly absorbed by the water. I saw Arin close his eyes for a moment, and then the glow of his spiritual weapon sprang into being, hovering just above the water and making it sparkle with a silver-blue light.
The other two eelhounds made their way straight towards Zeni, who was by now standing alone in the shallows. She was probably only ten feet from the bank, but even so she didn’t have the time to make it out of the water before they were on her. She wasn’t wearing armour and so the bites went straight through her clothes, and both eelhounds stayed close to her, one digging its teeth into her side, the other snapping and circling, preventing her from leaving the water. Despite her lack of armour, it turned out that Zeni was not helpless in the face of this attack - as soon as the first eelhound bit her, she reached out and placed her hand on its slippery skin, her face darkening with pain and anger. Some sort of energy flowed down her arm and seemed to pass from her hand into the body of the eelhound, which immediately began to thrash, throwing up huge amounts of mud and water. I’m not sure if it was a spell, or something else, but it looked like her retaliation had done far more damage to it, than it had done to her. The distraction created an opportunity for Zeni to bolster her own defences as well, creating what looked like a layer of colourful seashells and corals which pulsed brightly for a moment, before sinking into her skin and vanishing. I hoped it would be enough, but she still looked very vulnerable, stood there by herself.
Further out in the water, Ussi was leaping and growling at the eelhound threatening Enessa. As he grows, he is becoming more and more capable of judging the best way to help her in a tight spot, and in this instance the distraction he provided was invaluable, allowing her to strike powerfully with her sword while the eelhound’s attention was diverted.
From the trees to the east, where I had left Wind, an arrow flew, landing just a whisker short of Raphael and striking the eelhound which was still clamped onto his leg. It was a spectacular shot, accurate to a pinpoint, and impacting with a powerful thunk. As I got closer, I could see that Zeni was smiling to herself, as though she might have had something to do with it, and who knows, maybe she did.
The scene out on the lake descended into something like a brawl after that, with two eelhounds, Raphael, Arin, Arin’s spiritual weapon, Enessa, Ussi, and Sabali all stirring up the muddy water. It was very hard to see much of what was happening, although it looked like Enessa had managed to get free of the group and far enough back to fire her longbow, which was good news.
I finally made it round to where Zeni was standing, waist deep and still doing her best to fend of the second eelhound. I took a stab at the one which still had its jaws locked on her, but could find no purchase in the slippery mud. I could see why Wind hadn’t wanted to come this way. Zeni was desperately trying to force the eelhound to let go by pushing at it with both hands, but it was having very little effect. Despite my arrival, and attempts to catch their attention, both eelhounds continued to focus on her, and I wasn’t sure how much more damage she could take.
Another of Wind’s arrows came whistling from the trees, and missed by only inches. From behind us Orlando’s shot rang out, and that did hit home. It was very cleverly placed, and not only injured the eelhound, but also knocked it off balance and onto its side, which allowed me to follow up with a quick sword strike to its exposed belly. It was a maneuver which we had done variants of many times, but it still always felt satisfying when it worked out as well as that.
Despite laying about me with my sword, shouting, and generally being as threatening as I could manage, nothing I could do seemed to get the eelhounds attention away from Zeni, and between them they managed to pull her down under the water. Fortunately for her, Arin wasn’t too far away by this point, and he managed to extricate himself from the melee and come and pull her back onto her feet, healing the worst of her wounds as he did so. What was really remarkable was that even as he did this, his spiritual weapon continued to fight fiercely to defend Raphael. The strength of mind required for two complex spells at once like that is quite something, but he made it look easy.
In very quick succession, I heard a sharp exclamation of alarm from Raphael, and then a cry of triumph from Sabali - later I found out that Sabali’s stab, which skewered the eelhound with its jaws locked onto Raphael’s thigh, had come a little too close to his own flesh for Raphael’s liking. Seeing its companion defeated, the second eelhound had reared out of the water and seemed to be hissing loudly - at the time I assumed that this was simply an animal display of hostility, like Ussi’s growls, but Raphael had understood it as a broken form of Sylvan, the speech of the woodland folk and the fae.
That eelhound had made itself rather too visible with its display, and Wind’s next shot caught it in the neck before it could get back beneath the surface. Blood pumped from its wounds, but it wasn’t yet finished, and it turned and struck out at Ussi, who was still jumping and nipping at its tail. After another few seconds of confusion, Raphael finished it with a long slash of his sword. As he turned to come over and help Arin and I, I was glad to see that he looked much better than I would have expected, considering the damage he must have taken from the hounds. Arin or Enessa, I guessed, must have helped him to maintain his strength, or perhaps he had drawn on his own divine inspiration.
It was good to see the victory of the others, but Arin, Zeni and I were making heavier work of the two relatively uninjured eelhounds facing us. Orlando had managed to knock one of them off its feet again, but it hadn’t taken it long to right itself and resume its attacks. Zeni, thank goodness, had managed to shock and frighten them with some sort of electric spell and had been able to scramble out of the water, definitely hurt, but able, thanks to Arin, to get away to where she could concentrate on her magic. With her gone, the beasts seemed to switch to focus their attacks on me, one coming up under my shield to bite at my left arm and cling on there. It made striking at them very awkward, and although I could hit them easily enough as they were so close, it meant that doing much in the way of damage was difficult.
Orlando was firing as quick as he could reload and the smell of black powder was heavy on the air. Arrows hit home too, their shafts sticking out like pins in a cushion, the fletching of each one the signature of Wind or Enessa’s handiwork. By this point most of my attention was taken up fending off teeth and claws, with various degrees of success, but I saw Arin and Sabali laying into the backs of the eelhounds with mace and sword, fists, feet and elbows. Finally, Sabali managed to finish one of them with a mighty strike from his shortsword, which gave me a little more space to breathe.
Even so, I could feel myself weakening from blood loss, and I knew that if it wasn’t over very soon, then I might be in trouble. Gathering my strength for one last effort, I raised my shield arm high, lifting the eelhound bodily from the water. It was a risky move, and if it hadn’t worked then the thing would have been able to go straight for my throat, but I didn’t have a whole lot of options at that point. Now that I could see the thing clearly, it was a relatively simple matter to dispatch it with my sword, weakened as it was by the blows of my companions.
As soon as its limp body had slid from my blade and dropped back into the swamp, I felt just how close to the end of my strength I really was. I lent heavily against Sabali, and he half-supported, half-carried me back onto dry land where I sat, wounds throbbing, on the muddy sand. I looked around for Arin, but I think he must have been off checking that there was nothing else which could threaten us. Instead, to my surprise, Enessa sat beside me and pushed back the hood of my mail shirt, resting her cool, if rather bloody, hands on my face. I had felt her healing before, but never under circumstances when I had the luxury to actually consider what was happening. She either channelled, or perhaps created, a powerful restorative energy - it was a pleasant feeling, somehow fresh and earthy at the same time, but it was certainly not divine in origin. I’m really not sure what exactly it was, or how it came to be - my only guess is that it might perhaps be something similar to the life energies which the druids say they can tap into. Whatever the case may be, I was certainly very grateful for it. One thing that I am learning on this journey is that there is far more to the use of magic than is taught to us in Vasselheim.
Zeni had her medkit out, and was tending to anyone with scrapes or bruises (that was pretty much everyone, apart from Wind, who was busy congratulating herself on the wisdom of avoiding the swamp crossing). Once everyone was as comfortable as possible, Raphael told us about the speech of the eelhounds. Yet another mystery to add to the pile. Apparently, the eelhound said something like ‘you will pay’ and called us fools. Speaking for myself, I think it might have a point on the last item. I understand almost nothing that is happening here, and the situation seems only to get more complex with every hour that passes.
Raphael said again that he thought a hag might be involved in all this, and that perhaps these eelhounds were servants of that hag. It seems possible, although the implications of that would be worrying, because in that case the hag, or hags, know exactly where we are and very likely where we are going. Another worry - the eelhounds were a handful, certainly, but were never likely to kill us all - were they a warning of some sort, or is something playing with us? Or, is this unrelated to the hag? If, indeed, there is a hag at all. Does this have to do rather with Zeni, and the shrine? Or something else entirely? This whole thing is murky as the swamp water.
We are taking a very brief rest here, and Raphael says that he has something that he would like to do before we move on. This must be the mysterious detective power he mentioned last night - I hope it doesn’t take too long, this doesn’t seem like a very safe place to spend a long while.
I’m sorry that this is so confusing! I hope next time I get the chance to write this journal that I will have something more definite to report.
In which we do battle with an unquiet spirit
25th Quen'Pillar
Today (yesterday?) has been a strange day, and I will try to recount it as best I can, although I don't think that I as yet understand everything that I have heard and seen. What seems like an age ago, but was actually probably only around lunchtime, we got wearily to our feet and, having patched our wounds as best we could, we made ready to head out in the direction of Jenna’s home village.
Before we left, Jenna made her way over to the broken bodies of her three companions. They had been laid out with as much dignity, as we could give them, but even so it was a forlorn sight. She gently bent over each one in turn, taking from him or her some token by which they might be remembered. Kissing her fingertips and pressing them to each pale forehead, she bade them a final farewell, and then straightened, a determined look on her face.
As the others finished gathering the baggage, I tended also to the body of the packlord of the gnolls. I don’t know what his purpose here had been, and most likely it was not a good one, but I killed this man with my own blade, and in battle he was a worthy opponent, fighting bravely until his last breath. It is unknown which deity these people followed, they wore nothing I recognised as a holy symbol, but I prayed that they might receive a just reckoning beyond the veil, whichever power claimed their souls. Around his neck their leader wore a distinctive chain of animal teeth and small bones strung on a leather cord - I carefully lifted it over his head and placed it, wrapped in cloth, in my pack. It’s very unlikely that I will have the opportunity to return it to his kinfolk, but you never know what the future may bring.
Rested, but still moving somewhat stiffly, we shouldered our packs, and made our way further north to Bel, which is the name of Jenna’s village. It was a couple of hours walk, and the journey was thankfully uneventful. I saw Raphael hang back to speak to Zeni, who looked perhaps a little subdued, but then, the aftermath of battle can often be like that, once the adrenaline fades. I hope that their conversation offered a welcome distraction.
After almost two hours of walking, the stunted trees opened out and we saw a cluster of roughly built wooden and wattle houses which were raised on stilts above the swamp water, and connected by a network of wooden walkways. Calling out a greeting, Jenna stepped between the houses and was met by a striking looking human woman with a crest of stiffened hair on her head and a long braid fastened at the end with an iron band. It turned out that this woman, Rithuia, was the wife, and now widow, of Phillip, who was one of the captives killed by the gnolls. Jenna broke the bad news to Rithuia, who took it very bravely. Clearly it takes a resilient spirit to make your home in these hard lands.
As I looked around at our somewhat bedraggled little party, I saw that Zeni had again cast her disguising spell, and was now wearing the face of a human woman. I don’t know why, but she seems always to be very wary when we are among strangers. It wore off after a while, of course, and her sudden change in appearance caused some comment. Rithuia asked me why she would hide her face when her natural Tiefling form is so beautiful (which it is indeed, if not quite as glamorous as Wind’s), but I think that beauty has very little to do with it. The reason, whatever it is, clearly goes well beyond vanity, misplaced or otherwise. I know that Rithuia would have liked to have spoken to Zeni herself about it, but Zeni seems to have managed to avoid her so far.
We set up our camp just to the north of the cluster of houses, on a patch of reasonably dry ground. The villagers all came out to speak with us and hear the sad news that we had brought. They told us a little more about Barithia, the woman who had founded Bel, but who, it turns out, does not actually live here herself. She is based a couple of hours further north yet, in a dwelling that apparently stands alone. A bold, maybe even foolhardy, choice, given the dangers of the Rootgarden, but none here seemed worried for her safety. Almost everyone we spoke to described her as a kind woman, but suffering from some sort of sadness or melancholy. Apparently she is an arcane practitioner of some sort, but no-one was able to give any details of the magic which she practiced.
Raphael and Sabali in particular seemed very curious about the origins of the villagers, how they came to be living here and what kept them to this austere life. The stories that they told seemed reasonable enough - most commonly a lack of purpose and direction in their old lives, and sometimes the draw of romance on top of that. What was a little strange was that some of them were rather vague about some of the details, even when it came to events that had been life changing - this vagueness was something that would become a bit of a theme when speaking to the inhabitants of Bel.
Once we had dropped our bags, Arin and I sought out Jenna and Rithuia, to see if we could learn more about the recent deaths in the community, and offer any assistance in diagnosing or treating the problem. I explained that we were healers, and that anything they were able to tell us could be useful in determining the cause. At first they were reluctant to speak, but gradually I think that we won their trust. They described three deaths, each occurring without any prior indication of anything being wrong. These deaths had taken place recently, and with a startling regularity, one victim each week for the past three weeks, and always on the same day. The last one was a week ago today. Until we pressed them to consider the timing, I’m not sure that they had thought about it before, nor did they they seem particularly worried about it even then. Which was very strange indeed. It was almost as if someone had placed a dampener on their ability to think critically, or react appropriately, despite their more general obvious competence living out here in the wilderness. What could do that though, I have no idea.
After we had spoken with Jenna, Rithuia drew us aside and said that she had something else to tell us. She had seen battle, and knew the look of a person who had died in fear. She said that she had seen fear in the faces of those who had passed, despite the fact that they had apparently slipped away quietly in their sleep. I know what she meant by that look in the eyes of the dead, but as a sign of possible illness this meant nothing useful to me. I turned to Arin and I saw that his brow was furrowed in thought. He said that it sounded to him like it might be the attack of a creature called a ‘banshee’. This was not a name I had heard before, so I asked him to elaborate.
A banshee, apparently, is the undead soul of an elf woman who, in life, had used her beauty to control and dominate others, rather than as the gift which the gods intended it to be. Thus corrupted, her spirit cannot pass beyond the veil, and instead roams the land of the living, angry and suffering, and attacking the unwary as they sleep. She can find no gladness in this existence, and feels only distress in the presence of living souls.
Now, had this tale come from a less reputable source, I would have dismissed it as the bitter and rather unoriginal ramblings of some spurned lover, which, over time, had gained the status of superstition. Why would such a curse affect only women after all? Or only elves? It sounded like nothing so much as the cruel hopes of some disappointed suitor who resented that a fair elven lass had failed to bestow her beauty as a gift to him (or her).
And yet, Arin is a scholar, and would not repeat such a tale lightly, so there must be at least some reason to think that there is truth behind it. In any case, whatever the real origins of such an unquiet spirit might be, it sounded like a serious problem, and one that might quite likely make another appearance in the village, perhaps even tonight.
--
As the sun sank below the horizon, I spared a thought for Captain Dorienn and the Windstriker. They would no doubt be scanning the shoreline for us with increasing desperation, and I wondered how long they would wait before giving us up for dead and heading back to Drynna. Even if all else went well, the thought of the long hard trek back to town was not a pleasant one.
But that was something we could worry about tomorrow. Tonight, after dinner, a wake, or celebration of life, would take place for those killed in the conflict with the gnolls, and so we met beforehand in the camp to discuss what we had each learned, and have a bite to eat before joining the villagers.
Arin relayed his theory about the banshee, and several others spoke of rumours about the ‘Lady of the Swamp’ which sounded like they might be one and the same thing. Enessa had tried her best to detect any magical influence, and I had attempted the same thing with regard to sensing any evil creatures in the vicinity, but we had both come up with nothing. It sounded like this banshee hunts at night though, so I guessed that if it was going to come, it would be later, once full dark had fallen.
Orlando had had a long conversation with a gnome called Sprocksmith, who had given him some news about the spread of the technology which Bayou is based on, and which seemed to be causing him some consternation. I didn’t entirely understand what he was saying, but it had something to do with the town of Whitestone, which I don't think is that far from Drynna.
As we spoke, Raphael moved around the camp laying down a circle of small stones which he drew from his pack. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that a closed circle might offer some protection from his Lady. Now, I could sense no divine energy from these stones, so I don’t know what purpose exactly they were intended to serve, but he seemed to place great store in them. I saw Zeni looking on curiously as well, but she said nothing.
In fact, Zeni had been acting slightly strangely ever since we had arrived at the village, and now she announced that she was going to bed rather than joining the villagers' gathering in honour of their fallen neighbours. I really hope that she isn’t feeling ill, after all, this swamp is a thoroughly unwholesome place. I was also not entirely happy about leaving her on her own when we strongly suspected some sort of undead was on the prowl, but she is well able to make her own decisions on such matters and so somewhat reluctantly we left her alone in camp.
The villagers had gathered together in the space between the houses, and had brought out drink and food which they had clearly kept saved for a special occasion. People shared stories and memories about Philip, Yohanna and Dundar, and laughed, or were sombre, as they felt that they needed to. As Oteas had requested, I led a short memorial rite for Yohanna (they were both members of the church), remembering Bahamut’s promise that his loyal followers shall find peace and rest beyond the veil, and that we meet again and feast together in his Celestial Hall. Perhaps, in due time, Oteas, Yohanna and I will have the honour to raise a glass together in that holy place.
As the evening wore on, there was a call for music and merriment to chase away the sadness of the day, and so I drew my lyre from its case. The requests were eclectic, and I did my best to improvise where I didn’t know a particular tune, but soon we gravitated towards the old familiar favourites. Apparently Philip had particularly loved ‘What’s in a bottle of Elvish Wine?’, and the call and response pattern of the song was perfect to get everyone on their feet. To be honest, the lyre is not the ideal instrument for that kind of tune, a pipe or a fiddle would have been much better, but no-one seemed to mind too much. The villagers had some choice verses which I’d never heard before, and Orlando and I shared some of the Vasselheim classics as well. Sabali, Wind and Enessa had everyone in gales of laughter as they competed with one another with ever more outrageous rhymes. Arin’s contributions were less raucous perhaps, but turned on clever double meanings which delighted the more quick-witted among the revellers. It was a true cultural exchange, even if I must admit to not knowing the precise meaning of every word of some verses (although the gestures definitely helped to get the general meaning across…).
As we sang and made merry, the somewhat doleful atmosphere of mourning gave way to a joyful thankfulness. Sharing music and glad companionship always renews the spirit, and I was sorry that Zeni was abed and not here to be a part of this. Raphael too looked somewhat tense and guarded - he joined in readily enough, even offering a verse or two, but his eyes kept straying to scan the darkness of the water, looking, I suspect, for any hint of a banshee in the thin mist. I could not blame him, even in the midst of all the music and light a small shiver ran down my own spine when my thoughts turned to what might be hunting out there beyond the limits of the torchlight
It must have been around midnight when everyone began to stagger off to bed, little pockets of song still breaking out here and there as everyone said their goodnights. I watched them go with some misgivings, the banshee was very likely somewhere close by, or would be soon, and having people separated might not be the best idea. However, the last thing these people needed now was to come to fear their own homes, and so we saw people safe inside, told them to stay there should there be trouble, and then prepared to stand a watch.
Raphael and I volunteered to take the first shift, since I don’t think either of us would have slept in any case. We both knew well enough that the hours after midnight tend to be when undead are most active, and if the creature were to strike, that seemed like the most likely time. I suggested that we station ourselves in the village itself, but Raphael gestured to the circle he had made with the stones from his pack, and said that we would be safer to stay here. Again, I felt nothing from it, but, not wanting to watch alone, I agreed to stay in the camp if that was his preference.
We both sat with our hands resting on our swords, ready to act as soon as we saw anything amiss. As we waited, we spoke in low tones about the legend of the banshee - Raphael confided that he thought it might instead be some sort of hag. That made sense to me as a possibility, I know something of hags, and this did indeed sound like the sort of thing they might have done, but Arin had sounded very sure about the banshee and indeed his opinion was to be vindicated before another hour was out.
A light rain began to fall, with clouds gathering to cover the moons and stars, and I drew up the hood of my cloak against the chill night air. Time ticked by slowly, our conversation died away, and we just watched the darkness on the water for any change or sign of movement. I felt it before I saw it, it was a subtle presence but it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and rise. I nudged Raphael, and we both stood, swords in hand, looking for the source of the disquiet. At first, it looked like just a thicker patch of mist, but as it moved closer the outline of a spectral figure became visible, moving swiftly across the swamp water. I let out a yell, trying to wake the camp, and pointed out to Raphael what I had seen. It was drifting rapidly towards the eastmost houses of the village, but as I called out, it seemed to hear me and to hesitate for a moment.
I felt my heart hammering in my chest, but drew in a deep breath, and remembered my training. I brought the prayer for protection against evil to my lips, and speaking the words aloud brought an immediate sense of calm, and readiness to face whatever this evil thing could throw at us. I expected to see Raphael follow suit, but was surprised to see that he took no such precaution, instead letting loose immediately with a magical blast which plowed harmlessly into the water, but definitely got the attention of the creature, which started to move towards us.
We were both shouting now, hoping to raise our companions from their sleep before the banshee was upon us. We were partially successful - apart from Wind, everyone was up and out of the tents by the time it had fully diverted from the houses to glide over towards us, hovering maybe twenty or thirty feet out over the water. Now it was closer, I could see it clearly, and there was no doubt that this was a foul spirit. If it had truly been beautiful in life, that beauty was long gone now. What was left of its face was decaying and ruined, its arms were crooked and skeletal, and the faint echo of rags hung about it in the mockery of an elegant robe.
As we watched it approach, the banshee threw back its head and let out a piercing shriek, a sound that seemed to go beyond the bounds of normal hearing and claw at the very inside of the mind. I was just regaining my composure when I heard a heavy sound beside me, and turned in time to see Raphael fall to his knees, hands over his ears, and then topple to the side, apparently knocked out cold by the harsh cry. Looking back at the others, I could make out that Orlando and Arin were down as well. Enessa was still on her feet, but bent over the prone form of Ussi, Wind I still couldn’t see anywhere. I exchanged a glance with Sabali and Zeni, who were still upright, supporting one another and both a bit pale (as I’m sure I was myself), but had at least survived the banshee’s unholy wailing.
I focused on the spirit, its eyes now locked on the bodies of my fallen friends, perhaps hoping that they would prove to be easy prey, and in my mind I formed the words of the ancient vow of enmity. As the sacred magic of the oath took shape and settled into place, I felt a great sense of purpose. But still, I knew that I could not face a powerful spirit like this without my comrades. Apart from anything else, it was still out over the water, and I certainly cannot shoot holy fire from my sword. It was ranged fighters that we needed now.
With this in mind, I turned my attention to Raphael and Orlando, both down. Raphael was right next to me, and so I channelled some rough and ready healing energy to bring him back to his feet. As soon as he was standing again, he let off another blast of silvery energy right at the banshee's face. How exactly he channels the Moonweaver’s power through his weapon I don’t know, and the magic still feels odd to me, but there is no denying that it is very effective. The shimmering light sliced into the spectre and briefly seemed to disrupt it’s integrity, causing a ripple to pass through its body and its unearthly glow to dim momentarily.
Both Sabali and Zeni meanwhile, were clearly preparing to hit it with magic of their own. Sabali was performing some of the flowing movements which I have often seen him practice in the early mornings or before sleep, but this time he varied the pattern, bringing his hands together sharply with a loud clap. Over the water a tiny point of disturbed air expanded quickly to form what seemed to be a large dome, covering the banshee and the area for some way around it completely. I have heard of such magic before - it silences and deafens anyone caught within its influence. It was quick thinking to use it against the wailing, but I feared that we had nothing with which to secure the banshee in place within the spell, so that it could easily escape the dome.
Zeni had once again summoned the spinning orb which I have seen her use several times now, and which seems to be shaped with the use of a tiny diamond which she keeps for this purpose. She loosed the magic into Sabali’s dome of silence and we watched as lightning flashed entirely soundlessly, reflecting on the water. It was an eerie sight, and the banshee writhed in obvious pain as the lightning bolts struck home. Zeni and Sabali both took the opportunity of its distraction to dodge away and take cover behind the tents.
The banshee seemed then to stare at each of us in turn, its face twisted up horribly, somehow contriving to make its appearance even more hideous than before. Wrapped securely in the cloak of my faith, I stared back at it, unmoved by this gruesome display of its corruption. Most of the others who could see it were obviously disgusted and horrified, but, if anything, they seemed renewed in their determination to take it down. Enessa on the other hand, was badly shaken by the sight. Ussi was still not moving, and she crouched beside him, trying to shield his body with her own. When she lifted her arm to place her hunter’s mark on the spectre, her hand was trembling so much that I thought she might be unable to form the spell, but all credit to her, she managed it despite the effort of will it clearly cost. More than that, she also somehow revived Arin, who looked very groggy, but least was alive.
A moment later I could see Arin kneeling by Orlando, doing his best to bring him round, but clearly too exhausted to summon the mental discipline needed to chanel Ioun’s divine will for a task as complex as healing through prayer. He had spent his reserves unstintingly both during and after the fight with the gnolls, and he had had almost no opportunity to rest before the banshee’s visit had disturbed our sleep. Strong as he is, I was not surprised that he was struggling now. Fortunately, I thought there might be something which I could do to help. Doubling back a few steps, I brushed my fingertips just for a second across Orlando’s brow, relying not on formal prayer but simply upon the faint echo of celestial vitality flowing in my own veins. I wasn’t sure that it would work, but it did, and better than I might have hoped.
To my great relief, Orlando sprang to his feet, and ran along the shoreline to get a better shot at the banshee, which had by now moved somewhat away from us and back towards the line of houses. In doing so, he passed into the silence dome, and so when he fired Bayou, only the puff of smoke from the barrel gave it away. Although we would most likely have guessed in any case, because of the way in which the fell spirit doubled over at the bullet's impact, before straightening and resuming its course towards the centre of the village
We needed to stop it, and fast, before it had the chance to drift through the flimsy walls and take anyone in their sleep. I heard the crackle of one of Raphael’s energy bolts, and a hiss as it struck the water. At the same time, Arin’s voice rang out, commanding the banshee to halt in the name of Ioun. I felt sure that this would work, so steady and resolute were his words, laced with Ioun’s holy power, but the banshee was not even slowed. Clearly we were dealing here with a powerful shade.
Looking back, Enessa was still tending to Ussi, who lay motionless on the ground. I thought that he must still be living, or she would have left him, but clearly his wounds were grave. Enessa herself was obviously very much afraid, the sight of the banshee having woken some deep and primal (and honestly very sensible) dread in her. I could not blame her, even the thought of a soul in everlasting torment, unable to find its rest, is terrifying. It should be terrifying. The fact that this one also wanted to kill us no doubt didn’t help either.
Finally, the banshee drifted close enough to one of the wooden walkways for us to target it directly, and Sabali ran forwards, tumbling and cartwheeling along the narrow planks. He shouted gleefully as he ran, only to be suddenly cut off in mid flow by his own silence spell. He was intending, I think, to distract the banshee, and perhaps it worked, because when it reached for him with its stick-thin arms, its claw-like hands stained with some sort of black energy, it missed him completely.
Raphael and I ran up close behind Sabali, although we both edged out much more carefully along the wet wood. Up close, the banshee was even more hideous, its eyes yellowish and streaked with red, the spectral memory of its flesh hanging down in strips. A visceral sense of evil was everywhere about it, tainting the air and making my stomach roil.
We both struck at it, hoping to finish it before it could move out of reach over the water again. I got in a reasonable enough hit, but the impact of my blows clearly paled beside the damage that the Moonweaver blade was doing - that sword truly is a mark of great and sacred favour. I was surprised that its very presence did not do more to drive back the sense of foulness emanating from the spirit, but perhaps the stink of the banshee was too strong. If anything, the sword’s presence almost seemed to intensify the chill of the night.
There were a few shots, both mundane and magical, from behind us which caught the banshee in the chest and flank, causing it to twist and snarl (or I think it would have been snarling were it not for the magical silence which still enveloped us). It lunged for us a couple of times, but each time we just managed to evade it’s grasp. At one point Sabali actually tried to reach out and grapple it - unsurprisingly his arms went right through, but somehow he managed to keep his balance, his hands and forearms coated with a thin sticky residue of ectoplasm.
Eventually Raphael broke the deadlock with a massive blow which caused the banshee to break and run. It headed south, towards the drier land, which was a serious tactical error on its part. There it could be pursued, and Sabali took off after it in a flash, covering ground so quickly that he almost became a blur. Arin and I rushed up after him, and arrived, panting, just in time to see him deliver a fierce rain of blows. Right over by the camp I could see Enessa drawing back her bow. She was clearly unwilling to come any closer to the water’s edge, and as a result the shot she was attempting was a difficult one, but it hit home nonetheless! I saw her smile with relief, obviously gaining confidence from seeing that the unnatural spirit could be struck by her arrows like any other quarry.
At that, the banshee took off again, this time heading out over the water, but it was too late. It was hit by attacks from Orlando and Sabali before finally succumbing to a bolt of divine energy from Raphael. The banshee’s form disintegrated over the lake, parts of its unnatural body sloughing off and dissolving as they hit the water, until there was nothing left. Raphael himself had leapt from the little jetty by the shoreline to make the line of the shot, and had ended up in the shallows himself. We fished him out before any of the ghost-ichor could contaminate him, and he seemed to be unhurt.
We checked on the inhabitants of each house, and everyone seemed to be okay, if a bit shaken up by what some had witnessed from their windows. Wind too, who had been felled by the wail of the banshee before she even had a chance to leave the tent, looked as though she would recover fine with some rest.
Before we turned in, Sabali shared a piece of information which disturbed me greatly. He was the only one to witness the demise of the banshee at relatively close quarters, and he told us that in its final moments, its face had transformed into that of Altria, the Drynnan apothecary. Which makes no sense at all.
I really don’t know what to make of his account - Sabali said himself that it could have been a trick of his own mind, and indeed I pray that it was, because the other possible explanations are none of them good.
Anyway, right now I need my sleep, tomorrow will be soon enough for speculation.
In which the survivor tells her tale
24th of Quen'Pillar 835PD
I write this as we snatch a few minutes rest following a very fierce fight with the gnolls. Zeni is moving from person to person, patching up wounds with the deft application of her healer’s kit, and we all are taking stock of what has happened, each in their own way.
It was a bad business, very bad. At least half a dozen gnolls are dead, maybe more than that, along with three of the four captives they had been transporting. The members of our adventuring party are alive, at least, but almost everyone is injured.
I have spoken with Jenna, the sole survivor (beyond ourselves), and what she told us makes me think that this fight could have been avoided, had we been more circumspect. These gnolls, it seems, were members of the Moonsteeth, the bandit group which we had heard mention of back in Drynna. They apparently have some dispute with Jenna’s village (this settlement is a strange tale in itself, which I will tell more fully below), and had taken these four prisoner having discovered them gathering foodstuffs and herbs in the swamplands. For reasons Jenna did not know, they had not been killed on the spot, or indeed harmed at all yet as far as I could see, and were being taken on somewhere else.
We could have bargained with them and quite likely secured the lives and freedom of all four villagers. The lack of a common language would have been a barrier, it’s true, but Raphael in particular has an easy manner that is eloquent even without speech. I think that he and I could have forestalled the combat long enough for a rough parley to take place, had others held their fire. These Moonsteeth are opportunists, by their report, and I don’t think that they would have chosen to do battle with us lightly, armed as we are. Besides which, we are carrying a good deal of coin following the discoveries in the caves, which could have been used to grease the wheels of amity. A combination of threats and bribes, skillfully delivered by tone and gesture, would surely have gone a long way to reaching an agreement without bloodshed. We should at least have tried. But we did not, we rushed to battle, and now the ground is soaked with blood. Perhaps that is justice for the gnolls, if they have truly lived lives of outlawry and violence, but justice purchased with the blood of innocents comes at much too high a cost.
Once the fighting started, Raphael tried to get the common folk away to safety, but they hesitated to trust themselves to his call (understandably, the whole situation must have been very frightening and disorienting). Seeing that, and that Sabali was also fighting alone in the same area, I made myself as visible as possible and got into the midst of the gnoll guards, offering myself as hopefully a more enticing target, while calling out to the villagers to flee to where Rapahel had indicated, so that he could shelter them. I found out later that only Jenna made it out, but even that one life saved is a grace for which I offer my heartfelt prayer of thanks.
To be honest with you, when I entered the melee I didn’t think that I would be walking away from it - there were a good number of them, and they were well armed and experienced fighters, backed by archers stationed on the ruined walls round about. My only plan was to hold their attention long enough to provide an adequate distraction, but, somehow, thanks to Arin, I am still here to make my report, as are we all. This is a dark day, but without Ioun’s blessing it would surely be darker yet.
The surviving villager, Jenna, is a doughty young woman who is coping with the situation better than perhaps might have been expected. I would guess that living in the rootgarden requires fairly strong nerves at the best of times, and she and her companions must have been aware of the dangers of wandering beyond the limits of their settlement. She is deeply distressed, of course, but bearing up well, given the circumstances.
What she told us about her settlement was both strange and troubling. It is a tiny community deep in the rootgarden - only a couple of hours walk from our present location. It was established some nine or ten moons ago by a woman named Berithia, who seems to have gathered a little group of people around her and convinced them to make a home out here. She must have a silver tongue indeed to draw folk here, given the reputation of this place, and it’s many dangers, but by Jenna’s account their little hamlet is a happy one and people do not generally regret the choice. It is home to perhaps two dozen people, so she says, and includes children among the number.
I asked her about the disease that Drynna has suffered, and whether they had experienced anything similar, but she said that they had not. That surprised me, given how close their contact with the swamp water must be, but what she said next was much more disturbing. Over the past few weeks they have experienced a number of unexpected and unexplained deaths - Jenna thought perhaps three (the fact that she could not remember exactly was strange, but I guess she was still very traumatised) - people who have died suddenly in their sleep with no other signs of illness. In a community of two dozen people, that three healthy individuals might die of natural causes in this way is beyond credence. Something is amiss there, perhaps another unknown disease, perhaps something more sinister. Not wanting to frighten Jenna, I did not press her for any further details at this point.
I did, however, ask her what her people would want done with the bodies of their fallen comrades, so that we could honour these dead in the manner they would have wished. She said that bodies in the village were normally offered to the swamp, as part of the ‘circle of life’. That in itself is not so strange, and indeed makes good sense here, where wood for cremation would be hard to come by, and solid ground for a lasting burial even more so, but nonetheless, it rang some warning bells for me. It means that, most likely, no one knows what has become of the bodies of those who have unexpectedly died. If someone is up to no good, then that could be a bad sign. I am probably just being overly suspicious, but, although Jenna herself seems honest, her tale raises more questions than it answers.
I don’t know the names of the gnolls, but the villagers who have died are Phillip, Yohanna and Dundar. All sons and daughters, perhaps husbands, wives, mothers and fathers. Each one a loss beyond reckoning. Before we leave I will say prayers for their peaceful passage through the Raven Queen’s realm, and Jenna will collect any personal trinkets which their loved ones would want to keep. Once that is done we will give the dead to the swamp, allowing them renewal, as is their custom.
Jenna has invited us to journey with her to her settlement, and I think that we should see her safe home, and perhaps find out more about this mysterious Berithia, and the run of bad luck her folk seem to have suffered of late.
In which we journey north
24th of Quen'Pillar
Enessa and I took the first watch, and discussed the origins and complexities of the magic used by the rangers. I was very interested to learn more, but we were rudely interrupted by a pack of giant lizards, which stormed the camp.
Shouting to wake the others, we drew our blades to face them. The fight was a messy one, by all accounts, but unfortunately I missed a good chunk of of it. I had tried, for the first time, to use magic in combat, and the results were, it's fair to say, mixed. It started strongly enough, I got in a good hit and then used the power of Bahamut to strengthen my arm, doing far more damage than I could ever have managed on my own. After that, it went much less well - in trying to concentrate on the unfamiliar spellcraft I must have lost focus on my defensive technique and I soon went down heavily, badly injured by a bite from the largest of the lizards. If Wind had not bravely stood her ground, daggers in hand, protecting me until Arin was able to get me back on my feet, then I don't know what might have happened. As it was I was bruised and bloodied, but walking wounded at least.
The rest of the fight is a bit of a blur, but eventually we prevailed. The carcasses of the beasts were dragged away from the camp, and, my stint on watch now over, I retired gratefully to my bed.
The next day we rose early, and continued to make our way north. En route we continued to seek clues - Enessa conversed again with the birds, Zeni searched for these 'ley lines' and we all kept our eyes peeled for signs of passage through the undergrowth. I even tried to reach out with my divine sense, looking for any taint of evil in the dark forest, but found nothing of interest.
After we had travelled north for some hours Orlando held up his hand for silence, evidently listening for a sound on the wind. Once it was quiet, we could all hear it - people in distress, interspersed with the barks and yips of dogs. We made our way towards the sounds, crashing rather clumsily through the mud. Once we were close, Sabali pulled his jesters hat out of his pack and, telling the rest of us to hide, ran forwards and out of sight. I didn't see what happened to him, but I could hear sounds of a commotion breaking out.
Stepping forward to try to get a better view of the situation, I still couldn't see where Sabali had gone, but I could see that there were a fairly large number of what looked like gnolls holding several human villagers (by the look of it) captive. Behind me I could hear movement as the other members of the party shifted their positions.
It was not at all clear exactly what we were seeing here - in the hope that at least some among them spoke common, I lowered my weapon and called out to the leader (or so he seemed), asking him, calmly and peaceably, what was going on in this place. The leader stepped forward and said something in response in a harsh language which I did not recognise. His archers drew back their bows, but did not loose their arrows, which I took for a positive sign. I hope that I kept my countenance even, but inside I was kicking myself for my unfortunate lack of learning. Without speaking their tongue, it would be nigh on impossible to defuse the situation.
It is quite possible that these folk are also victims of the disease which has caused so much harm to the Drynnans, perhaps they are even in a worse situation, given their greater proximity to the polluted water, or instead it could be the case that they are the cause of it.
It is looking very much as though we will have to search for clues amongst the bodies, always assuming that we ourselves survive this encounter.
In which we share confidences, and fight a crocodile
23rd of Quen'pillar
Before we set out this morning Zeni put together a simple breakfast, and we ate swiftly, not wanting to be late for our rendezvous with Captain Dorienn and the Windstriker. Raphael finally put in an appearance just before we were about to leave, making his way downstairs with a noticeable spring in his step. Yesterday he had seemed rather quiet by his standards, perhaps even a little troubled, but now he walked with purpose, and seemed to be looking forward to the day ahead.
I am very pleased to report that by the time we were ready to leave the weather had actually improved considerably. The last of the clouds were giving way to a slightly chilly but pleasant autumn day, which I think lifted everyone’s spirits considerably. We saw a few people going about their business in the early hours, but for the most part the town was quiet and peaceful.
The ship was ready and waiting for us at the dock, and in short order we boarded and stowed our gear. The crew made us very welcome, and this being only the second time I have been on a proper ship, I was quite excited for the journey.
As the sailors bustled around making everything ready, the atmosphere seemed calm and well-ordered and Zeni looked around approvingly, which I took for an encouraging sign. The only slight delay was in getting Sabali aboard - he seemed very reluctant at first, until Zeni called him forward. Even then, he sat by the mast looking most unhappy. The first mate, a tortle by the name of Sorrell, spoke to him gently, reassuring him about the seaworthiness of the ship and the competence of its crew. I don’t know how much it helped, Sabali still looked rather downcast and uneasy afterwards, but it was a very kind gesture from a man who must have had many pressing duties of his own.
Enessa stepped up to the wheel almost as soon as she had got her bearings, and I heard the Captain barking at her to leave it alone. I really don’t know anything about ships, but that wheel looks like an important piece of equipment, and I’m not surprised that Dorienn didn’t want anyone messing about with it. Enessa didn’t look too pleased though, and I could hear her arguing with Sorrel (or maybe cajoling him would be a better description), but he patiently explained how much damage mishandling the ship could do and at the note of finality in his voice Enessa turned away shaking her head.
As we got underway, Arin (who turned out to be an even less experienced sailor than myself), rather unexpectedly started to tell us about how much he would like to visit Rexxentrum, and the great Library of the Cobalt Soul in that city. Speaking about all the knowledge he could gain from such a journey he sounded eager, almost excited, which was a contrast to his normally reserved demeanor. What exactly prompted this confidence I don’t know, but I feel like I understand him a little better for it.
Sabali, who was still not looking completely at ease as the deck of the ship began to move beneath our feet, wandered over to Enessa who stood leaning against the little charthouse on deck. I heard him ask her if there is anything she has done which she was ashamed of - goodness knows why that came into his mind, there is clearly something about a sea voyage that makes people loquacious - but she seemed not to even understand the premise of the question. I don’t know if she was being glib or sincere, but the concept of shame seemed to have no sway over her. In the end, when the question was watered down to ‘something which she wished that she had never done’, she offered up a tale about some attempt at petty theft made in her youth which had landed her in jail (briefly, by the sound of it). She seemed sorry to have been caught, but not in the least ashamed of having made the attempt. At this Sabali looked rather nonplussed. She even jokingly tried to tempt Sabali into joining her to give whatever it was another go, but I think that she has rather missed her mark there.
As the ship drew further from the shores of Drynna, and our perspective widened, we could see the northern docks looking small against the shoreline, and a little ramshackle. Tiny figures moved amongst the boats, black outlines in the dawn light. I felt dismayed that their town wasn’t able to do more to protect them, and that we were now sailing away, leaving them vulnerable should there be any more trouble with the fish men. I prayed that Bahamut would watch over them, but even as I did so, I knew that such a task properly fell to me and my kind. He had granted us power specifically to watch over innocents such as these, and perhaps I was failing in that duty by not being there now. I shivered a little at the thought, but no good ever came of second guessing a decision once it was made, and, in any case, I trust that the Light Temple will do all that they can.
I turned back to the group, which was now centred on Orlando, who was speaking nostalgically about the powder blend he had invented and which had brought him such great success in Vasselheim and beyond. Orlando sounded almost wistful, recalling triumphs past, but I was glad to hear him speaking of those days without rancour. It would be easy for him to be bitter about some of what happened, but he always seems to bounce back with good humour. Finishing the story, he gestured at the prosthetic which replaced his missing hand and said rather self deprecatingly that perhaps he had turned to invention because he was unable to practice as a tinker in other ways. Arin looked up quickly at that, and assured him that the gods smile on a quick mind as readily as on quick hands, perhaps more so. Orlando, always one for a good philosophical wrangle, expressed his interest in the ways of Ioun, and said that he had long been curious about the teachings of the Cobalt Soul on such matters as whether new inventions are a gift of the gods, or shaped only by our own minds. Arin looked pleased at the prospect of discussing it further, and I suspect that when we are back in a snug tavern the two will find time to continue the conversation.
No doubt inspired by this line of thought, someone asked Wind whether she herself had ever made anything she cared to speak about. She seemed initially flummoxed by the question, and I must admit that I smiled inwardly at the idea of Wind making for herself what she could easily dupe another into giving her, but then she rallied in a rather unexpected way. Drawing herself up, she said proudly that what she had made was herself - as different from her humble origins as might be imagined, finding opportunities for entertainment and coin where others saw the prospect only for dullness and drudgery. I think that Zeni said something under her breath at that, but Orlando smoothed it over and anyway Wind is not usually one to take such things too much to heart. When she glanced over at me, I gave her a quiet nod of appreciation, because, looking at it that way, really she is quite right.
We whiled away the remainder of the journey talking of this and that, mostly just chatter of little consequence, but when asked about his childhood, Sabali told a tale of such heart-wrenching cruelty that I would very much like to believe that it wasn’t true. However, I have no reason to doubt him, and those of the party native to Tal Dorei did not seem to find it so very shocking, so I think I must accept it at face value. He told us that he had been kidnapped and sold into slavery at a very young age - so young that he has no recollection of where he came from, or who his people were. He was sold on, while still a child, as some sort of entertainer for wealthy merchants and their guests. When his tricks failed to please his masters he was most savagely treated - the tale he told on this occasion, which he seemed to regard as almost unremarkable, involved his tail being set on fire. If he and Zeni supported one another through such a brutal world then it is no wonder their bond is strong, even after all these years. The thought that there are people out there who could treat an innocent child in this way is sickening.
A little after noon, we arrived at the designated drop off spot, although to my eyes this patch of swampy lakeshore looked much like the miles stretching off to either side. The plan is that the Windstriker will wait here until sundown tomorrow, keeping a good lookout in case we return sooner than that. Should we fail to appear by nightfall, we will have to make our own way back on foot, which would be unfortunate, to say the very least. I think we will all be keeping a close watch on the passing hours.
Arrangements made and farewells said, a tender was swung over the edge of the ship, and we all settled ourselves into the little boat, packs stacked between us. Sabali and I took the oars, with Zeni calling instructions in her best piratical style. This was a new activity for me, and the language she used to describe our rowing technique was, let’s say, colourful, but we got there in the end.
We dragged the boat up a muddy bank, and Zeni went to make it fast. She looked like she knew what she was doing, and tried to wave away Wind’s assistance when it was offered, but Wind simply bent down and retied the final stage of Zeni’s knot. Zeni took a long look, frowned, and then grudgingly let Wind’s modification stand. For myself, I would hate to be stuck on this desolate shore without a ready means of escape, so the more knots the better as far as I am concerned.
On first impressions, the rootgarden was just as disagreeable as its reputation had suggested. Dank and odorous, the marsh stretched back some two hundred feet before giving way to a stunted forest of some sort. Enessa and Raphael started to have a look around, trying to get their bearings. The conversation was degenerating into a rather absurd discussion about how useful it would be for Enessa to try to climb a tree, when Raphael suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked sharply at something out in the lake. ‘Movement in the water!’ he shouted and we all strained to look. I could see nothing at first, but then Raphael lashed out with a bolt of energy. It hit nothing, but its light did reflect on a narrow v-shape of ripples in the water, revealing that something was coming towards us fast.
Those quick enough scrambled further up the bank, while Raphael, Arin and I drew our weapons. As we were doing so, an absolutely huge crocodile erupted from the water, it’s jaws wide and snapping angrily. The ranged fighters behind us reacted first, including Orlando, who, to my astonishment, fired Bayou at very short range. The sound was very loud in the still air, and everyone jumped in alarm, including me. At least I knew he had it on him, I can't imagine how surprising it would have been for the others. My next strike at the croc was a weak one, and it took its chance, seizing my sword arm in its jaws. Thankfully, my mail stopped the worst of the damage, but I was a bit worried that it might try to drag me back into the water. I had confidence however, in my newfound comrades, and that confidence was not misplaced.
My friends rallied round in spectacular fashion - Arin weighing in with his mace, and Wind somehow managing to shoot right along the line of my arm and into the crocodile’s open jaws. It was Sabali’s heroics however, which really made the difference. He vaulted right over my head, landed on the croc’s back and grabbed it’s upper jaw, prising it open just enough for me to wriggle my arm free. I staggered back as Raphael drew his sword and struck at the creature, calling out ‘My Lady marks you!’ as he did so. I noticed that this sword was not the one which he had used previously, but something else, far more finely made and, if I was not mistaken, magical in some form. I was very glad to see it - a blade blessed by the Moonweaver would be a powerful weapon indeed, and to be trusted with such a gift from her hand speaks well of the recipient.
I didn’t have long to admire it though, because the croc twisted round, faster and more flexible than I would have guessed possible for it, and seized Sabali in it’s gaping maw. Not having the benefit of chainmail, Sabali looked seriously injured by the bite and we watched for a second or two, horrified, as the crocodile shook him violently from side to side, spraying blood and swamp water across everyone on the bank.
Zeni moved first, drawing it’s attention with a firebolt, and then Arin dodged into the water, reaching his hand almost inside the crocodile’s mouth to heal the worst of Sabali’s wounds. It was a powerful spell, and the light of it shone brightly for a moment, illuminating a mess of white fur and sharp teeth. In the next moment, a great swipe of the croc’s tail took him off his feet and into the water with a heavy splash. Enessa and Orlando made their shots count, but the creature was still thrashing wildly, the water around it now stained red with blood from several sources. Wind though, it seemed, had had enough of this fight. She came running down the bank, whooping out a war cry of some sort involving handbags, her dagger raised in both hands. As she neared the water’s edge, she tripped on Arin’s prone form and fell headlong - my heart was in my mouth for her, but as luck would have it, the momentum of her fall drove the point of her blade right through the creature’s skull with very considerable force. It died at once, stabbed through the brain, and it’s mighty jaws slackened enough for us to drag Sabali free.
Once we had picked ourselves up, and Zeni had tended to what remained of Sabali’s wounds, I looked around at the party. Anyone who had been anywhere near the water looked a mess - dirty, bloodied and wet through. Then I did a double take - Wind looked almost immaculate, even though I had seen her go sprawling in the mud and sand not ten minutes beforehand. When she saw my amazement, she wiggled her fingers in a vaguely magical gesture, looking immensely pleased with herself.
We decide to head deeper in, rather than hugging the shoreline, with Enessa leading the way. Arin and I kept to the rear, both still nursing our bruises and scrapes from the crocodile encounter. The going was fairly tough, with the water often coming in over the top of our boots, and the footing treacherous and slippery. For an hour or so we made slow but steady progress eastwards, keeping an eye out as we did so for the plants that Altria had requested.
By the time we stopped to take a short breather, I think that we were all feeling the oppressive atmosphere of the swamp. Raphael and I were deep into a very polite but fairly intense discussion of exactly how far from the shoreline it would be wise to go in the limited time available when we both realised that some of the others were ignoring us completely and getting on with another, and better, plan entirely. Enessa had gone a little way from the group and had somehow managed to lure several smallish birds down to perch just in front of her on a low tree limb. Her head was inclined, as if listening to a very quiet voice, and then she seemed to bow her thanks. Returning to the group, she announced confidently that the birds had told her that there was evil to the north, and large dogs. I didn’t know that she was able to converse with birds in this way, but it seems a very useful quality to have.
Meanwhile, Zeni and Arin had both been making preparations for some ritual magic. In Arin’s movements I recognised the prayers for detecting the presence of poison or disease, and sure enough he reported that the water, as we had suspected it might be, was tainted. Zeni, it turned out, was looking more generally for magical influences in our surroundings, and let us know that there was a ‘snarled leyline to the north’, whatever that might mean.
All signs seemed to point to north as being the most promising ground for investigation, so we duly set off again, bearing in that direction. Enessa, accompanied by Ussi, led the way, guiding us expertly through the murk. Zeni, Arin and Sabali all found some useful plants along the way, and Raphael spotted some tracks, probably made by humanoids, although neither he or Enessa could say when they had been made. At least we have some of what Altria requested now, so whatever happens tomorrow this trip will not have been a wasted one.
Around 7.30pm we started to set up camp. It wasn’t terribly well organised to be honest, but hopefully next time we will do better. After a bit of uncertain milling about, we cleared the ground, put up a couple of tents and gathered firewood to make a cookfire. Most people seemed to have brought some sort of tent or bedroll with them, enough that everyone should be able to sleep comfortably. Wind didn’t seem to have anything with her, but immediately declared that she would be sharing my tent, which, given that she was by far the cleanest person present at this stage, was absolutely fine by me.
Once everything was sorted out, people settled down to spend the evening in their own way. As the dusk gathered, the gloomy dampness of the swamp became rather eerie. Every now and again strange animals splashed in the boggy ground around our campsite, and unseen birds called mournfully from the trees. I moved closer to the warmth of the campfire, and took out my lyre to practise some of the new Drynnan music which Rebur had taught me over the past few weeks. My fingers were a bit stiff with the chill, and I tried to play quietly so as not to disturb the others from their thoughts, but even so, the melody, and the rhythm of playing, immediately lifted my spirits. It was only when my back and shoulders began to relax that I realised how tense they had been. Music has a healing power all of its own, and, from being stressed and tired after a long day slogging through the muck and mud of the swamp, I felt light-hearted and merry again, confident that tomorrow we would find the answers that we need.
I was a bit too wrapped up in my own reverie to take that much notice of what everyone else was doing, but something seemed to go wrong with cooking dinner. I’m not sure what the problem was, but Zeni took a taste from the pot, pulled an absolutely disgusted face and instead of distributing the meal to the waiting mess kits people had left out, dragged the pot over to the far side of the camp, tipped it out, and, well, I don’t know how else to put this...she kind of exploded the contents. No-one wanted to ask too many questions about what was clearly a potentially sensitive subject, so we all dug out our cold ration packs without comment.
After we had eaten, Arin, ever dutiful, walked a little way back into the brush looking to gather more herbs. I could see his light bobbing amongst the thin trees, and eventually he returned with a few bundles of what looked like some sort of thistle. He didn’t seem all that pleased with them, but hopefully they will be useful for something.
I think that Raphael was trying to get a bit of peace and quiet, a little bit away from the campfire, but Sabali seemed to have chosen the same spot to conduct some sort of complicated business - possibly a ritual of some sort - which must have been a bit of a distraction. Sabali seemed delighted with the outcome though, whatever it was about.
Across the fire, Orlando and Enessa chatted about Bayou. I expected Orlando to politely dodge her enquiries, but he was far more forthcoming than I would have guessed that he might be, even going so far as to hand the weapon over for her inspection. Travelling together like this, and depending on one another out here in the wilderness, does invite such confidences of course, but still, it was good to see.
I haven’t wavered in my belief that this little group of ours belongs together for some purpose that isn’t yet clear to any of us, and, for that to come to anything, trust will be essential.
In which there are more problems than solutions
23rd of Quen'pillar
As always, I hope this finds you well and happy. I’m going to try to post this packet of letters as soon as we get back from our mission to the Rootgarden - there is something which I could really use your advice on, and again, news of my own which I know that you will want to hear as soon as possible.
This morning everyone was gathered around the breakfast table, even Raphael for once, and we took the opportunity to consider our plans for the coming week. After some discussion, it was decided that we should go and see Councilman Lauriette, and offer any assistance that might be needed with investigating the Rootgarden, or anything else, rather than just waiting for them to ask us. Wind and Zeni made a few comments about getting a good price for our assistance, but I’m sure that they weren’t serious. The bigger question seemed to be whether to go on foot - quite a way by the sound of it - or to sail across the lake. This proved fertile fodder for debate, but eventually it was decided that a boat would be preferable, if it could be obtained.
Zeni very helpfully shared her previous experience of travelling in this Root Garden area. I’m still not entirely clear on how she ended up there, but it sounded like a very unpleasant place to spend any length of time. I’m not surprised that the townspeople are reluctant to go there and investigate for themselves. In particular she mentioned a group of gnolls known as the Moon’s Teeth who have their lair somewhere in the swamplands, and who sometimes attack travellers or even launch small scale raids.
Perhaps one reason that feels a bit more urgent now is that the infection may have already reached our own ranks. A few days ago Raphael came to consult with Arin and I privately, and said that he had been feeling unwell. An unfamiliar hunger was gnawing at him, and he was not easily able to control how much he was eating, which was very unusual for him. It certainly sounded like the strange condition which was causing so many problems for the town, although of course it was hard to tell for sure. I channelled a cleansing power to clear him of any malady that might be lurking, and his symptoms seemed to be relieved at least for the moment. I can’t be sure though, that I managed to clear it completely. Raphael himself blamed the fish dishes that Sabali had prepared, but that seemed to be more of a slightly ill-tempered guess than anything else. The fact is that we just don’t know how this spreads, and I can only hope that no-one else will take ill, particularly while we are out in the wilds.
The weather has been absolutely filthy today, and it was a bit of a wrench to leave the cosy taproom of the Eagle’s Landing. The rain was falling heavily and the road was muddy beneath our boots almost as soon as we left the inn. Wind in particular seemed less than delighted with this turn of events, and looking at the impact of the sticky clay on her expensive-looking shoes, I could see why. The rain here doesn’t usually bother me much - after all, compared to Vasselheim the weather here is usually pretty harmless, but this rain had a weird oiliness to it. Combined with the fetid smell of rotting vegetation which seemed to be carried on the breeze, it was not a nice day to be out of doors.
This sentiment was shared, it seemed, by the two guardsmen stationed outside the Sunrise Lodge. They were wrapped in oilskin cloaks, with the rain running off them in streams, but despite that protection (better than anything we had, for the most part) they still looked rather sorry for themselves. We hesitated before the door, and Raphael rather graciously waved me forward, which took me rather by surprise. Once I had explained our business, one of the guardsmen confided that his wife had been healed by Altria’s medicine. Of course it was good to hear that people had benefited from the potions, but I hope that we can do more in due course.
Inside the door we found a rather nervous, but very enthusiastic young man, who introduced himself as Elthious. He seemed to be a secretary of some sort and had a huge stack of papers on his desk, presumably relating to the business of the town. The poor boy almost managed to knock these on the floor with his elbow while we were speaking, but Arin made a quick save before any harm was done, even taking the trouble to neaten up the top few pages for him before replacing them, which was a kind thought.
In fairly short order we received permission to go through to Lauriette’s office and, having left our wet cloaks and hoods in the antechamber, we stood before him once again. He too was full of thanks for our help with the potions - his little daughter Elspeth was much improved, which was very good to hear.
We offered any further help that he might need, and he said that it would be very useful if we could investigate the possible Root Garden connection. The disease has apparently been christened ‘swamp fever’ and the progression of its symptoms are becoming better understood. First an unusual hunger (such as Raphael had experienced), followed by a potentially dangerous fever. For those who recover from the fever (which I understand to be the vast majority), the cycle then repeats itself at unpredictable intervals. Lauriette mentioned that some people think the cause could possibly be a curse, rather than mundane in origin, and I fear that he could be right. Enessa mentioned the fairy circle out at Altria’s as a possible source of malevolent energy, but Raphael assured us with confidence that it was unlikely to be fae magic at work.
It was agreed that even if we were unable to uncover the source of the outbreak a trip to the Rootgarden would very likely yield some rare plants which might be useful in its treatment. It was therefore agreed that the Council would fund a ship to ferry us out and back, and would also offer some recompense for our time. Lauriette recommended Captain Dorienn of the Windstriker, who sounded like a most suitable fellow. Before we left, Raphael unexpectedly spoke up to ask if there was any other trouble that we should know about, pressing for an answer when the Councilman was reluctant to speak. In the end Lauriette admitted that there had been some rumors of strange fish men sighted around the northern docks, but since there was no actual evidence, he was inclined to dismiss the reports.
Raphael volunteered to make the practical arrangements with Ellthious, who he seemed to have taken a real shine to, and as we left the office I murmured to him to make sure that the town paid the lower end of the range of figures mentioned as our own fee. After all, the situation was obviously serious, and Drynna would need its coin if we were unable to offer a swift resolution. Raphael gave an almost imperceptible nod, and I knew immediately that I need not have spoken. His Lordship's manners might be a bit vulgar on occasion, but his generous spirit cannot be doubted.
As we made our way down to the docks, I looked around and did a double take as Zeni had apparently been replaced in our party by a rather nondescript looking human man! Seeing my startlement, she, speaking in a rough masculine drawl, reassured me that it was still her, it was just that her appearance had been magically cloaked. I touched her arm, and instead of the bulky homespun that I could see, my fingers touched Zeni’s smooth skin. It was a most disquieting experience, and I withdrew my hand quickly. I could see the advisability of such a disguise, given Zeni’s history, but seeing it happen made me a little uncomfortable. Getting used to the regular use arcane magic here is still hard, even after all these months. Not so Wind, whose eyes were as large as saucers, and who stared at Zeni’s new form with unabashed amazement and envy.
The Windstriker turned out to be a large vessel which was easily found. Captain Dorienn was on deck, wearing a rather dashing tricorn hat. I've never really seen the attraction of being a sailor, but there is no denying that the hats are a significant perk. He came to speak to us on the deck and Raphael explained our mission. Having a little time on their hands, and being as keen as anyone else to get the mysterious swamp fever dealt with, the Captain and his crew were happy enough to help (encouraged by the promise of the council’s gold). It was agreed that we would come on board the next day, an hour before dawn, so that we could make as early a start as possible.
We decided to make a quick check on the northern docks - the source of these mysterious rumours - just to be on the safe side, and it was almost on the way to Altria’s in any case (we had promised to call in there to get her requests for Rootgarden herbs and plants). As we got closer to the fishing dock, we began to hear sounds of commotion, and a couple of loud screams. We sped up, and as we entered the maze of narrow alleys around the dock front itself, it was clear that something was very wrong. Enessa scaled a building to try to get a better view of the problem, and shouted down to us that she could see a large lizard-like creature apparently attacking citizens to the east of our position.
The narrow passages made it slightly tricky to maneuver, but we all made it out onto the dock front eventually, where five or six of these amphibious warriors (which I later learned are called Sahuagin) were running amok. They were accompanied by a spellcaster who I think was using a form of divine magic, although I couldn’t discern its origins. I was hit by one of her spells at one point, and the pain of it felt like it was radiant energy, rather than fire. Even as it stung, I could feel a certain familiarity, and that gave me some pause. As I have been taught, it's rare for a truly evil creature to be able to call a radiant strike, and yet the actions of these sahuagin certainly seemed evil enough. By the time we had arrived they had already killed one innocent bystander, and they took another before we were able to stop them.
I am hesitant to report what I will say next, because I could be completely mistaken, but I need to tell someone I trust, and I'm not sure that Orlando would really understand why it matters. So here goes: during the battle, I twice felt a very strange energy originating with Raphael. If it hadn’t come from a dedicated servant of the Moonweaver, I would have said that it was some sort of hex or curse, and a fairly nasty one at that. I may just have been mistaken, I know, but I don’t honestly think that was the case. I am wracking my brain for any other explanation. If you have the time, could you please try to find out if there is anything associated with Sarenrae's followers which could explain this? I know that she is not always the most straightforward of deities, could she perhaps disguise her power as something else, for amusement or strategy? Any advice or information you can give me would be very greatly appreciated, although I know that getting messages back to me when I am moving around so much is not easy at the moment.
The sahuagin were pretty fierce, and once again Raphael had fought courageously on the front lines and needed reviving in the closing moments of the battle, although thankfully he made a remarkably swift and thorough recovery this time. Once they had all been dispatched, we helped to patch up the wounded civilians and to retrieve the bodies of the two who had been slain. Arin and I said a quick prayer over the dead, asking for the blessing of a peaceful journey to the next world. We invited Raphael to join us of course, and that was how I came to learn that the Moonweaver’s rites can only take place after sundown. Which just goes to show how much I don’t yet know about all aspects of her worship, and therefore made me feel slightly better about the other matter.
A few of the party took a rowing boat over to a tiny island in the harbour to have a look around, but they didn’t seem to find anything of note. Meanwhile Orlando asked the dock master about how long this problem had been going on, and he said that although the creatures had been seen a lot more lately, it had been mostly at night, and they had never attacked anyone before. They had been trying to report it to the authorities for some time, he said, but no-one had seemed to believe them. I thought back to the dismissive tone of Councilman Lauriette that morning, when discussing the ‘rumours’, and felt a sense of vicarious chagrin. We advised the man to preserve the corpses of the slain sahuagin as evidence, and said that we would report what we had seen at the earliest opportunity. The dockmaster was glad to hear it, but quietly I thought that really he shouldn’t need outsiders to tell his town’s leader’s what their own people had already warned them about. Government here leaves a lot to be desired.
We pressed on for Altria’s, and received her order for Chilling Pokeweed, Mermaid’s Breath and Windrush Fungus, could they be obtained. I love how poetic all the names for herbs and flowers are here! At home we probably just call Mermaid’s Breath ‘Purple Flower’ or something equally banal. Not that I have any idea whether this one actually is purple… Anyway, hopefully Arin or Enessa will be able to find them.
By this time we were all pretty wet and bedraggled, but we duly made our way back into town to report the incident at the docks to the council officials. Councillor Lauriette wasn’t there, but we gave over all the information which we had, and urged them to make sure that the area around the northern docks was, at the least, patrolled regularly. The gentleman we spoke to said he would try, but that he doubted it would be possible to do anything much. I was, if I am honest, quite annoyed by that - first they don’t believe the poor folk at the docks when they report what they have seen with their own eyes, and then, even when presented with hard evidence, they refuse to act to defend their own people! I think that he could see how unimpressed I was, and he drew a ledger from beneath the desk and opened it to today’s date. The long list of names recorded there was apparently all those watchmen and women unfit for duty, either because they themselves were sick, or because they were caring for someone else who was ill at home. The number of people available would barely constitute a skeleton patrol, and I must admit that I could see his problem. Sending watchmen to the docks would inevitably leave gaps elsewhere, and in order to be effective against the creatures we had fought they would need a reasonable number of people who were fit and ready for a fight. It was a very unsatisfactory situation all round, and I was deeply worried about what might happen in case of another attack, but there didn’t seem to be anything more we could do about it for now, so we headed back towards the Eagle’s Landing to get ourselves organised for the next day’s journey.
On the road back to Rebur’s place we ran into a few young lads who seemed to recognise Raphael - I guessed that they must have been beneficiaries of his soup kitchen. They waved to him enthusiastically, but looked rather cold and wet, sheltering from the rain which was still falling heavily. Raphael called them over, and said that although he wouldn’t be around for the next few days, they should call on Rebur, and say that he had sent them if they needed anything. It was good advice, and I’m sure that if they turned up on his doorstep Rebur would give them a hot meal at the very least. Then Raphael seemed to suddenly have a thought, and he crouched down to speak with the boys in more earnest. I could hear him describing the creatures we had fought at the northern dock and the boys’ eyes grew wide. Raphael gave instructions to spread the word about the danger, and to encourage people to avoid the area, or to evacuate if they had homes in that part of town.
What a great idea, and, I must confess, not one I would have even considered if I had been here alone. I asked them to wait a moment while I wrote a quick note to Brother Simon at the Temple of the Dawnfather, asking him to shelter any evacuees who had nowhere else to go, and to also keep a general eye on the situation in that part of town.
While I did that I could hear Raphael speaking low and urgently to the boys, he was reassuring them I would guess, after all, the situation might easily be very frightening to children. I signed and sealed the note, and passed it to what looked like the oldest of the boys to deliver to the Temple, telling him briefly what it contained, and to be sure to keep it as dry as possible. Before they left, Enessa stepped forward and pressed a coin into each child’s hand, saying something like ‘from the Heroes of Drynna’, and for a moment Raphael shot her a rather sharp look, but then he just smiled and sent them on their way.
We were all soaked through by the time we arrived back at the Eagle’s Landing, and quite tired.. As luck would have it, the room that Arin, Wind and I had shared was being cleaned and so Rebur offered us alternatives, which meant bunking alone for a change. I was very much looking forward to a restful, if short, night’s sleep and so I turned in early.
My dreams as I slept were incredibly vivid, and I woke in the small hours of the morning, my heart racing, filled with a strange sense of energy and anticipation. Rising from my bed, I struggled to recall the precise details of my dream… I had been flying high above a battlefield on broad feathered wings, as I had seen aasimar sometimes do in Vasselheim. As I thought about that feeling, a soft warm light began to fill the room. I twisted my body, looking over my shoulder and saw a mass of gently glowing white and golden feathers. They were huge, but completely insubstantial, passing through bits of furniture and through my outstretched hand when I tried to touch them. Even so, I knew for sure that they would bear my whole weight, even in armour, if I needed them to.
As you would imagine, I knew at once what this meant - my blood was waking, telling me that I was ready. I was shaking so hard that I could barely open the buckles of my pack, but I knew exactly what I needed to do. After all, I’ve rehearsed that moment in my mind since the very first day I came to Vasselhiem. I will draw a veil, as is proper, over what passed next, but I know that my pledge was accepted. Today I am a full daughter of the Church, and your true sister in the faith. It is the greatest honour I can imagine.
Once I had collected myself, and coming downstairs for a very early breakfast, I was surprised to see almost everyone already up and about. Despite the very short night’s sleep, there was a palpable sense of energy and excitement in the room. It was still night-time really, and the space was mainly lit by candles, so there were a lot of shadows in the corners of the room. Sabali seemed to be almost playing with these, jumping rapidly in and out so that they seemed to twist around him. It was probably my imagination, and the early hour fogging my senses, but the shadows seemed to be somehow moving with him. Whatever it was about, he was clearly having a lot of fun with it.
Wind was sat off by herself, which was unusual, and she seemed to be concentrating hard on a small piece of cloth in front of her, the colour of which was turning, at irregular intervals, from pink to yellow, and back again. I was amazed, because I had no idea that she could do anything like that, and if she could do then I would have expected her to have used any such talent to its maximum potential long since. It was then that I saw Zeni, clutching a cup of strong coffee and looking somewhat shell shocked. I went and sat down beside her, and gestured over at Wind, asking if she knew what sort of magic it might be. She did, as it turned out. Wind had surprised her last night, when she was studying, and preparing spells for the next day and had ‘asked’ (she said this in slightly pained tones, and I nodded sympathetically - I know what Wind’s asking can be like) Zeni to teach her some magic. In particular, the disguising spell which Zeni had used at the docks yesterday. Zeni wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened (again, I know exactly how that feels), but she had ended up spending several hours going over the basic principles of how that sort of magic works, and Wind had proved to be an astonishingly quick study. For the sake of my own peace of mind, I decided not to dwell for now on what Wind might be able to do with such a spell.
Zeni also showed me the page in her spell book where she had been working on the new invisibility spell which she crafted following her study of the disappearing spider (properly called a ‘phase spider’, apparently) last week. The page was covered in small dense writing, most of it in strange, indecipherable symbols, but she pointed triumphantly to the last few lines. It hasn’t been given a proper test yet, but she is confident that it will work. That could be a real game changer in combat, so I very much hope that she is right.
When I stepped outside to see if the weather had improved (it hasn’t) Enessa was outside with Ussi, running through some kind of training exercise. I have really enjoyed spending more time with them both over the last couple of weeks (watching Ussi playing in the long grass is always adorable), and Enessa has been kind enough to teach me the technique for her ‘hunter’s mark’. It’s very common among rangers, so she said, but it was completely new to me. Ussi is getting big now, he’s certainly not the kitten I originally took him for. He could be quite an effective ally in a fight I would imagine, but I don’t know if that is what Enessa intends for him. I’d hate to see him get hurt.
Back inside, Arin was sitting quietly on his own, looking perhaps a little grim, but resolved and calm. Raphael hadn't yet come down for breakfast, and as I poured my coffee I considered what I had seen of him over the past few weeks - had he used malign magic yesterday? Surely not. Surely. But even if he had done, perhaps he had his reasons. Had I not myself just sworn to set aside my own qualms and scruples in order to do that which needs to be done? It is at least possible that he may have done the same, for reasons that Saranrae in her wisdom deems worthy. His actions otherwise have certainly been honourable and courageous.
I can only hope that you can set my mind at rest on this point, Alywn, if by any chance you can get a letter back to me on the road.
Anyway, my reverie was interrupted by a whoop of delight from upstairs, and Orlando’s head, almost entirely black with grease and powder, poked around the door at the top of the stairs. ‘Miss Brightflame’ he called down ‘if you would be so kind as to spare me a few moments of your time, I have something which you might like to see’, and with that he disappeared again. Intrigued, I took my coffee along with me, and knocked on his door. He opened it a crack, and then, when he saw it was me, opened it all the way. He was grinning from ear to ear, and with a courtly little bow he motioned me towards the desk on the far side of the room. To my astonishment, there lay Bayou, looking almost as good as, if not new, then certainly as good as the last time I had seen it back home. It was almost like a miracle, but there it was, neatly polished (much cleaner than Orlando himself at this point), with powder and shot lined up alongside. Orlando was already wearing his gunbelt, and with great satisfaction he loaded and holstered the weapon, letting his coat fall to hide its shape. I don’t know whether he plans to use it openly here, but just knowing that he has it made me feel much better about facing whatever the coming days will throw at us.
In which we have a chance to relax, and get to know one another better
21st of Quen'Pillar 835PD
I apologise for the longish gap in these letters, but you will be glad to hear that I have had a much more peaceful couple of weeks!
Firstly, to finish off the saga of the spiders! After recovering our strength, we ventured back down into the caverns while Altria completed the brewing of the ephedra potions. We wanted to check that we had completely cleared out the nest, destroy any remaining eggs, and ensure that it was definitely safe for Altria to use those caves again. After all, ephedra, and whatever else is down there, will still be needed after we have moved on.
We were cautious in our approach, but all seemed quiet and deserted below. Zeni was visibly nervous about going down there again and I actually thought that she might prefer to wait above, but in the end she did come along. With Sabali taking point, we carefully explored each branching cave in turn, finding a few things of interest, but thankfully no more live spiders.
In one area, Gnolls had made a camp and had seemingly spent some time down here before falling victim to the spiders. We found some rather sad little temporary huts, a few spider silk-wrapped bodies, and a box containing some coin and other valuables. These we shared amongst the party – there was an awkward moment when it looked as though Enessa and Wind had tried to take more than their fair share, but when challenged on it, they both more or less laughed it off. Raphael went so far as to call Wind a thief, which, to be fair, I suppose that she is.
We next revisited the corpses of the spiders that we had killed on our earlier foray – Enessa and Sabali took on the gruesome task of figuring out whether any parts could be useful, and they did seem to find a few things – poison drained from the fangs, and, if you can believe it, the eyes of the disappearing spider, which Sabali wrapped carefully in a handkerchief. I’m sure they will come in handy for something, but I’m very glad I didn’t have to put any dismembered eyes into my own pocket!
Finally, we found an underground river, with a fairly strong current to it. It was suggested that we might want to take a look further upstream, and Raphael immediately stripped to the waist to make the swim. I don’t know what he was thinking, because almost as soon as he was in the water he began to struggle and had to be fished out by Zeni and Arin. He had another couple of goes, but without any more success. I suspect that perhaps he has never learned to swim – there’s no shame in that, but why he was so determined to try in that case remains a mystery.
Anyway, after this little performance was over, and Raphael had rather reluctantly covered himself up again, Enessa and I swam against the current to reach a locked door, or rather a sort of metal grid which stretched both above and below the water. We could see through it to a little shoreline beyond where some bags and boxes were stacked. Neither of us have any skill with locks, and so after a cursory inspection we made our way back to the group to fetch Wind, who is very capable in such matters. She had done a brilliant job with the lock on the Gnolls’ chest, and so I hoped that she would have little trouble with this one, which looked fairly basic, to my untrained eye at least.
Wind wasn’t too keen on making the trip, and although I think that Enessa might have been able to persuade her eventually, Arin stepped forward. ‘The blessings of Ioun take many forms,’ he said, ‘lend me your tools and I will make the attempt.’ I had heard that Ioun’s children could borrow her learning at need, but I had never thought of it being applied to something like lockpicking! Still it worked out well enough, and with Enessa and I steadying him, he quickly swung the heavy metal door open.
We took a look at the stuff piled up on the shoreline, and found a ladder leading up to a trapdoor of some sort. Arin used Wind’s tools again on the locked chests and we found several bags of tarnished silver pieces, a smaller amount of gold, and some beautiful gems of different colours. The rest of the party made the journey, with more or less ease and assistance, and we packed up what was, presumably, the treasure which the bandits had buried there and then been unable to retrieve. I hope that we can put it to better use than they would have done. The top of the ladder led out into the area of the forest where the bandits had been camped, and we gladly made our way from there back to Altria’s cottage, rather than being forced to swim back into the cave. All apart from Sabali that is, who insisted on going the long way around rather than getting his fur wet.
By this time, Altria had made up the ten potions, as promised, and had packed them neatly into a special case for safe travel. Before we left, we helped her to remove the boards over her well, and we parted with good wishes all around.
As we passed the little shrine to the Wildmother, Zeni asked for a moment alone, and we all retreated to a respectful distance. I would not have imagined her to be particularly devout, but she no doubt wanted to offer thanks to the gods for her safe deliverance from the spider’s lair. She had a very close call, and such things can certainly bring us closer to the divine. I pray that she found the peace that she sought.
As we walked back to town, Zeni reflected on the greatest gift that she had been given – her spellbook, a legacy, she said, from her mentor Pallias, before his passing. She explained that she tries to live everyday in service to his memory, and from what I have seen of Zeni so far, he must have been a brave and principled man. Sabali seems to also have known this Pallias, and I have no doubt that if these strange siblings ever cross paths with his killers, there will be no quarter given, as the sailors say!
When we reached the place where we had fought the wolves the day before, the corpses of the beasts were gone – Enessa was not happy at all, but honestly, I don’t really see how she could have carried them anyway, especially burdened as we were by bandit silver.
Raphael and I spoke quietly as we walked, about the fate of the two bandits who he had sent ahead to Rebur to await our return. I was glad to see that he had not forgotten them, and we agreed that if some useful and lawful employment could be found for both then it would be a job well done. However, keen as we both were to find some resolution to that situation, we decided to press on to the Sunrise Lodge first, to deliver the medicine as quickly as possible.
The councillor was out, but we handed them over to Mistress Snatch, who seemed impressed to see us back so quickly. She gave us the agreed upon reward very readily, and in only a few minutes we were heading back to the Eagle’s Landing. Orlando hung back to ask for news of whatever guild business had brought him here.
On arriving at the Eagle’s Landing, Rebur immediately sent Zeni off to the kitchen! She didn’t seem to mind, but Sabali was having none of it. He grabbed an apron and declared that he would cover the kitchen himself – Rebur asked if he had cooked much before, and he just shrugged. It didn’t inspire much confidence, but actually, the end result was really not bad at all.
It quickly became apparent that the two bandits were not there, and according to Rebur, a couple of chaps had popped in with wolf pelts to sell, but had not lingered. Raphael was quite downcast at that, and it was indeed a shame, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. It would have been a big leap of trust for them, and they didn’t look like men all that used to benevolence from lords and ladies. The person who seemed most upset was Enessa, especially at mention of the pelts. She said that they owed her for them, and I could see her point, but it seemed a little harsh to begrudge them the handful of silver they probably sold the skins for, when her own pack was heavy with the coin we had taken from their stash.
We all took rooms at the inn, Raphael, Enessa and Orlando in private digs, and Arin, Wind and I bunking together. I don’t know where Sabali ended up, but I assume that Zeni sorted something out for him. Once we were all settled, Rebur asked for the tale of our adventures, and I did my best to tell it fairly and with a little dramatic flair. He seemed quite impressed and I was glad that his faith in us had not been misplaced.
Raphael offered to take the gems which we had found into town to sell them, and Rebur recommended a jeweller’s shop called the Graceful Bauble. Arin and Wind went along with him, and they seemed happy with the price they got. My purse has rarely been as well stocked as it is now – a very unexpected outcome.
Enessa, still clearly fuming about the wolf pelts, headed back out into the forest. I’m not sure what she was looking to achieve there, but maybe she was looking to find some trace of the erstwhile bandits passing. Sabali, wearing a dark hood, went into town, apparently to ‘ask a few questions’, but he said no more about it afterwards, so don’t know if he found out anything useful.
Orlando had by this time filled me in a bit about his business in town, but I will leave him to tell the details of that tale. Suffice to say, it concerned Bayou (I will just say that for now, just in case anyone else reads this letter by mistake), which had been borrowed and not returned. Of course I promised to do everything in my power to assist him, and so we ended up heading into town to visit one Mr Silverbeard, the proprietor of the Silver Chain, a pawnshop. After a few enquiries, it turned out that he did have a very battered looking Bayou in his possession, pawned by an associate of Orlando’s who had passed through some weeks earlier. Mr Silverbeard allowed Orlando to redeem the weapon for 50 gold, which he seemed satisfied with. The shopkeeper had also, thankfully, preserved the ammunition and powder intact as well. Even I could see that Bayou was badly damaged, but still, Orlando seemed very well pleased to have it back in his possession. On the way back to the tavern I could tell that he was already mulling over how the repairs might be accomplished.
This detailed narrative is getting very lengthy now, and so to close, I will just summarise how everyone has kept themselves busy over the last couple of weeks, which have been, for me at least, very relaxing.
Orlando has spent almost the whole time tinkering with Bayou, although I think that he has found it quite a frustrating experience. The damage turned out to be a bit more extensive than was immediately obvious, and it took him almost a week just to get it all cleaned up and ready to work on. I did offer to help, but it’s not really a two-person job, unfortunately. He has seemed a bit happier in the past few days, so hopefully he is making some progress now.
Arin has been trying to use the extra ephedra that he collected, along with the herbs that Altria gave him, to make some potions. This too seemed to be harder than he expected, but I think he has made a least a few useful brews. He’s also spent a fair amount of time in the forest, I would guess looking for other ingredients that might be useful. While Wind has been out on the town, our shared room has become a sanctuary for quiet prayer and reflection before sleep.
Sabali pretty much disappeared for the first week, although I did hear from Zeni that he had been performing some of his old jester’s tricks for passers-by in the town square – she told me that he had been trained as an entertainer before finding his vocation as a monk, which makes total sense having spent some time with him. In this last week, he has been participating in a rather exciting unofficial tourney of unarmed combat down at the dockside – I’ve been to see a few of the bouts in the evenings, and he is an impressive fighter. I have really enjoyed cheering him on from the sidelines, and I think he won often enough to earn a fair amount of coin for his trouble.
Zeni spent most of the first week in the library – when I asked what she was doing, she told me that she was researching spiders, so as to be better prepared to face them in the future. I very much hope that we will not have another occasion to need such lore, but forewarned is forearmed! This second week she went off to study with Altria, to better learn how to use her healers kit. She said that Altria was happy to teach her, but clearly the apothecary is a much sterner instructor than I would have imagined. Zeni returned back each evening looking harried and drained, and once she had a broad purple bruise on her arm as though she had been struck by a cane or something similar. I tried to ask her about it, but she didn’t seem to want to discuss it and I did not pry. Still, I am surprised at Altria, she seemed rather a kindly soul.
I have only found out in the past couple of days what Raphael had been up to this whole time. He had been very – I don’t want to say secretive, but certainly discreet – coming and going at odd hours and not gathering in the evenings as the rest of us had got into the habit of doing. It turns out, as I learned from a very reliable brother at the Temple of the Dawnfather, that Raphael has been running a sort of makeshift soup kitchen for the poor and indigent children of the town. I think he may even have been cooking the simple meals himself. That man is full of surprises.
Wind on the other hand, I was not too astonished to see, has been up to her old tricks again. I don’t think that all the stories that she told me are true, but even so, she seems to have had a lively couple of weeks. She would stagger into our shared bedroom in the early hours, moving with the exaggerated caution of the somewhat inebriated, and usually seemed to have something to add to the little stash of gold beneath her pillow. I hope that she wasn’t up to too much mischief, but since I declined all (rather insistent) offers to accompany her on her nocturnal adventures, I really couldn’t say. She seems in very good spirits though.
I’m not too sure what Enessa has been up to either – she obviously has a lot of friends here in Drynna, and she always seemed to be going from one group to another, telling the tale of our adventures. I don’t know if this was her intention, but it definitely got us noticed. A number of people I had never met before came up to me on the street to thank us for our efforts in bringing the medicine back from Altria’s, and I can only assume that Enessa spreading the word must have been responsible.
For myself, I have had a lovely couple of weeks. Last week I kept mainly to the Eagle’s Landing, resting up and chatting with Rebur during the day. I like him very much, and there is something naggingly familiar about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. He has been helping me to write some simple music to accompany the more dramatic parts of our tale, which has been a lot of fun. He encouraged me to perform the new piece, and some other traditional Issylrian songs, for the patrons of the Tavern on a few evenings, and although I was extremely nervous about doing it, it was actually a really lovely experience. Enessa had clearly told all her friends, which definitely helped to fill the place up! Everyone was very kind, and I think that people appreciated hearing something different. Even the most everyday Vasselheim drinking song sounds quite exotic here, and a few verses in celestial always lifts a ballad beyond the commonplace.
This week I’ve been out and about in the town, and lending what help I can at the Temple of the Dawnfather (in the absence of a dedicated Dragon Church in Drynna). They seemed to appreciate the help, and I have made some friends there. You can always be sure of finding good people in Pelor’s House, and it was refreshment for my heart and soul to focus for a while on the quiet work of that gentle order.
Which brings me to this morning, when we had some disturbing news – although the potions which Altria brewed have helped to treat the symptoms of those laid low by the mysterious ailment, the infection continues to spread. It seems that some people are speculating that it is connected in some way to the Root Garden, a nearby swampy area. There is a suggestion that we might go and investigate it further, and personally, I would welcome another opportunity for adventuring with this rather strange group. We have got to know each other better over the past couple of weeks, and my conviction that we are all needed for some purpose, and are together for some strongly fated reason has not lessened in the least. I will certainly do what I can to keep our little band together.
In which everyone develops perfectly reasonable Arachnophobia
7th Quen’pillar 835PD
I have to be honest, and say that I thought that tackling this spider nest would be a fairly straightforward task, but it actually turned out to be a bit of a nightmare. If I never see a spider again, it will be too soon. Altria had seemed unhappy about whatever was down there, but not terrified, and in hindsight, I can only conclude that was because she didn’t actually realise what was there.
I’m going to lay out in some detail what we found, partly because setting it down will help me to get straight in my own mind what happened. I realise however, that this may well be of little interest to anyone who wasn't actually there, so please feel free to skip over this part of the narrative if you wish!
We woke early, had a light breakfast, and prepared ourselves, each in their own way. Atria lifted the trapdoor, and we filed down into the caves below the house, taking the narrow ladder one by one. A single candle was burning to light the way down, but on reaching the bottom it was very dark indeed. Most of us (save Arin) can just about see in this light, to one degree or another, but even so the only person who really seemed comfortable below ground was Enessa. She stepped confidently into the deeper shadows almost immediately, taking a deep breath of the stale musty air as if it refreshed her. Everyone else seemed tense and nervous, hands tight on weapons and eyes straining into the darkness.
Once everyone was down, Enessa and Raphael moved quietly ahead. Arin and I were relegated to the rear of the party, in case the sound of our armour alerted the spiders to our presence. Zeni hung back with us as well, showing a sensible caution that I wish she had maintained. We all picked our way slowly and carefully along the dusty ground, keeping our eyes peeled for the ephedra moss which Altria had said lived on the walls and ceiling of the caves.
After a few minutes of investigation, Orlando spotted a small passageway off to the south. It’s entrance was partially collapsed but he thought that maybe he would be able to wriggle through. It looked potentially interesting, but for now we decided to take the larger route eastwards. The floor of that passage was littered with bones, probably animal rather than humanoid, but it was hard to tell in that light and they could have belonged to almost anything, which was not a cheerful thought. I could hear the smaller bones crunching beneath feet as we moved nervously forward. Arin and I were still bringing up the rear when we heard a sudden loud yell of pain and surprise from Raphael, followed by an ominous quiet, broken only by the strange scuffling sound of many legs against stone.
For a moment everyone seemed frozen with shock, and then I heard Orlando shout that there was at least one large spider up ahead, maybe more. I heard the characteristic twang of his crossbow a second later, and his frustrated exclamation as the shot evidently went wide of the mark. Enessa, on the other hand (so Orlando told me later) stayed perfectly calm and collected, backing silently into the shadows at the end of the cave and taking careful aim at a second spider high up on the wall. She has some sort of hunter’s trick which she can use to mark a foe and make it easier to target, I’m not sure that it's magic exactly, although I don’t know what else to call it. Anyway, when things are a bit calmer I am going to see if she will teach it to me, it looks incredibly useful.
Before anyone else could react, a number of smaller spiders (still at least the size of a dog mind you, not exactly small) came flying towards us and tried to latch onto people, climbing up their bodies until they could bite at exposed arms and necks. It was a blessing that Zeni managed to take care of most of these with another sleep spell, which seem to be something of a specialism of hers. This spell obviously had a bit more power than she had expected, and Sabali also dropped, fast asleep and surrounded by inert spiders. If it hadn’t been for his loud snoring, I would have been seriously worried about him.
After Zeni’s magic, the only small spider still conscious attached itself to Wind, and she ran back towards Arin and I, frantically shaking out her skirts to try to dislodge it. The three of us struggled with it, Wind’s urgent movements being as much of a hindrance as a help, and eventually we managed to get it off her. Once it was on the ground, Wind stepped on it hard with her elegant bootheel, to her clear satisfaction.
Having freed Wind, we moved forward to face whatever might be ahead in the darkness. Arin cast some sort of energy bolt at one of the big spiders, channeling power through the symbol of Ioun he wears around his neck. It was a potent spell, three thick strands of power flowing around one another in a complex helical pattern and it struck the spider hard in the flank. Where it hit home, a ring of blueish light stood out against the darkness, making it an easy mark for future shots. As I had expected, Orlando took full advantage, downing the beast with a well placed arrow.
The other spider though, was still very much an active threat, and Sabali, having been woken by a slightly sheepish Zeni, moved to close with it. As he lashed out, I saw Zeni watching him intently with a very odd expression on her face. At the very last moment, she called out urgently ‘no, not there, just to the left’ and Sabali adjusted his strike to follow her directions. Undoubtedly he did more damage as a result, but it was strange - I’m surprised that Zeni could even see that much detail of what was happening from where she stood, and she is herself no swordfighter, as far as I know.
With only one spider left, it became the target for several attacks, culminating in another energy bolt from Arin, this time focused from his shield. It was more powerful than the last one, pulsing with a blue-white energy which crackled as it passed between Sabali and I, hitting the spider so hard that it punched a hole cleanly through its abdomen, and it collapsed in an oozing heap of blueish gore.
With the last spider down, at least as far as I could see, I ran to check on Raphael, whose unmoving body still lay where it had fallen in the first moments of the combat. He had two very sizable puncture wounds in his chest, each filled with a stinking and obviously poisonous ichor which was eating away at his flesh and gradually spreading beneath his skin in ugly black tendrils. His face was deathly pale, and his breathing shallow and uneven. Sabali also knelt beside him, retrieving a leather-wrapped packet from his pack which I took to be some sort of healer's kit, although not one that I recognised. He bent and looked closely at Raphael, lifting his eyelids and feeling for his pulse. After a few moments, he looked up at me seriously and said that he believed that the man had been poisoned. I glanced down at the blood oozing from the wounds, made thick and black as tar by whatever toxin the spider had injected, and agreed with him that it seemed likely.
Once Sabali seemed satisfied that there was nothing further he could discover, I placed my hands on Raphael’s chest and, closing my eyes, I prepared my mind for prayer. As the venom touched my skin I allowed myself to feel the wrongness of it, and a twisting stab of nausea turned my stomach. I called on Bahamut’s grace to transmute the poisoned blood back into something wholesome and life-giving, and almost at once it felt as though my hands had been washed clean in spring water. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that Raphael’s wounds would once again be flowing red and bright. I gave thanks to my Lord for this mercy, and pressed my fingers a little harder against Raphael’s chest, asking as I did so for a further benediction to close the wounds and knit the still torn flesh together. I poured all of my energy into this task, and slowly felt the ragged edges of the bite wounds mending, although my strength had limits, and I knew that Raphael would still be weakened when he came to. As I stood, the ever-present sense of Bahamut’s awareness at the back of my mind suddenly blossomed into the warmth of approval, maybe even pride. It was a fleeting feeling, but I am sure that it was real. I have always doubted my worthiness for this path, so it was a great relief to know that, in this instance at least, my actions met with his blessing.
I stepped back to find Sabali immediately behind me, watching over my shoulder as Raphael’s eyes fluttered open and he came groggily back to consciousness. Although much improved, he was clearly still weak, and I saw him make his own prayers to the Moonweaver for, I would guess, strength and fortitude for the battles to come. She seemed to answer his entreaty, for something like a sparkling frost seemed to settle on his shoulders and he stood up noticeably straighter than before. Seeing the frost, Sabali rather thoughtfully offered Raphael his coat, against the chill, but Raphael was already walking away, giving orders to Enessa and Arin for the next stage of the exploration.
We moved cautiously forward into the next part of the cave, all pretty sure that there would be more spiders up ahead. We made a rather gruesome discovery of some humanoid figures entirely wrapped up in spider silk and clearly dead (although very well preserved). While we were inspecting these grisly remains, Zeni called out that she could hear something that sounded like scuttling nearby. She said that there was something strange about the sound, it came and went very abruptly, but I think that we all assumed that this was due to the strange echoing effects of the cave itself. We waited, but nothing actually showed itself, and so we continued to carefully explore until we came across an area with a profusion of moss growing on the ceiling. Arin confirmed that this was the ephedra that we needed to collect. Unfortunately, we could also see a number of spiders eggs in the same place.
Everyone was very much on edge by this point, and alert for the first sign of an another ambush. Raphael in particular kept glazing nervously up at the ceiling (after what happened last time, I really could not blame him). This surprise attack though, when it came, was rather more spectacular.
A truly enormous spider, bigger even than the one that had jumped Raphael, with yellow and black bands across its body and huge, hideous eyes simply appeared in front of Orlando. It didn’t jump from the ceiling this time, or spring from the shadows, it just blinked into existence, presumably from some other plane. I’ve heard of creatures that can do that, of course, but I’ve never actually seen it happen before and I almost jumped out of my skin. This strange new spider’s fangs were long and dripping with poison, this time not the thick black stuff, but a thin greenish liquid which hissed as it splashed onto the stone floor. It rose up, waving its front legs, and then struck viciously at Orlando, biting down hard on his shoulder. He cried out, and for a terrible moment it looked like he too would go down instantly, but he rallied magnificently. Staggering away from the spider, I saw him visibly gather his strength, clearly fueled by anger, and he even managed to turn and get a decent shot in.
Seeing what had happened, I jumped in front of the spider to try to draw its attention and stop it from pursuing the injured Orlando. Zeni was close too, but I couldn’t see the others at this point. Coming from behind me, I could hear horrified exclamations in several different voices, and the sound of hands slapping against cloth and armour. At that moment I couldn’t really turn around to see what was wrong, but when Raphael moved to the other side of the monster spider, striking with sword and dagger, I could see dozens of tiny spiders swarming all over his clothes and hair. I suspected that these little spiders were biting at him anywhere they could get a hold, and it seemed unlikely that he would be able to withstand their onslaught for long, given his injuries, but for now he was fighting very bravely.
When an opportunity presented itself to look around at my companions, I could see that Arin, Orlando and Sabali were all similarly plagued by the swarms of tiny spiders. Arin had his hand on Orlando’s shoulder and his head bowed, clearly offering up some badly needed healing prayers on Orlando’s behalf, while Zeni and Enessa took shots at the large spider. Sabali ran forward, tiny spiders scattering off him left and right, and took a few swings at the spider, and then I was surprised to see him dive headlong into a small pool of water on the cavern floor. Somehow sensing what was about to happen, the little spiders covering him leapt off before he entered the water, congregating at the edge of the pool. He stood there in the water for a moment, streaming wet and shaking his great furry head, grinning from ear to ear, before dashing out again.
The big yellow and black spider, clearly riled by the damage it had taken, went in to bite Raphael, but he somehow dodged out of the way at the very last moment in response, once again, to a shouted instruction from Zeni. The spider, frustrated, clacked its jaws and again waved its front legs at us, and then promptly vanished. It just disappeared into thin air. I swiped my sword through the air where it had been to check that it was not just invisible, but no, it was really gone. Despite dodging the bite from the big one, I watched in horror as the tiny spiders overwhelmed the weakened Raphael, and he fell first to his knees and then onto his front to lay unconscious on the floor of the cave. Once he was down, spiders seemed to flow away from him almost in a stream and began to move onto Sabali’s boots and up his legs. It was awful to watch them moving, and an involuntary shiver went up my spine.
The tiny spiders were, overall, a bit of an ordeal. They had nasty stinging bites and they seemed to get absolutely everywhere - on your face, in your hair and under your clothes. We did our best to get them off one another - magic seemed the most effective weapon against them, but I hesitated to use divine power against this sort of enemy (they were unpleasant certainly, but not exactly evil). Neither Arin, nor Raphael once he was back on his feet (someone must have healed him, probably Arin, but I didn’t see it happen), seemed to have any such qualms however, which was probably fortunate in the circumstances.
On the other side of the cavern, and so far unaffected by the plague of swarming spiders which were now infesting pretty much everyone else, I could see Zeni readying a spell and scanning around for the reappearance of the vanished monster spider. Power snapped between her hands and the glow of it lit her face from below and created strange dancing shadows behind her. She looked frightened, but determined to stand her ground. By this point the rest of us had moved, or perhaps had been driven, over to the other side of the cave by the pool, and so she was alone. I really blame myself for that - after all the drills and exercises I have done, I can’t believe that I didn't see that for the danger that it was. Although everything was happening so fast and things were so confused, that I’m not actually sure that I would have been able to get to her anyway.
After a few seconds the spider rematerialised, and it was directly in front of Zeni. It was obviously hurt, and leaking ichor from multiple wounds, but very much still fighting. She struck immediately, using the spell she had been holding ready, and loosed a bolt of fire that blasted hard into its body, releasing a foul stink of burning hair and keratin. It staggered sideways for a step, several legs giving way, but, driven by the pain of its injuries, it also made a desperate lunge to sink its fangs into Zeni’s unprotected body, injecting a massive dose of poison. She dropped without even making a sound, crumpling onto the floor, her spellbook tumbling from her hands.
Arin, seeing her fall, gave a shout and ran towards the spider before it could disappear again, swinging wildly with his mace. I was surprised to see the raw emotion on his normally calm features, but I’m quite sure that the look my own face was no better. The monster managed to dodge his frenzied blows, but that left it open for Enessa’s arrow, which took it in the leg. That seemed to be the final straw - it blinked out again momentarily, but then it was back and seemed to almost collapse in on itself, its carapace cracked open in several places with thick pale blood oozing out. It fell heavily and lay on the floor beside the still form of Zeni.
Unfortunately we still had the little spiders to deal with, which still seemed to be everywhere. Poor Sabali was beginning to panic a bit now, and I could hear him calling out for Zeni to help him. He obviously hadn’t seen her fall and I was glad that he had been spared that at least. By the time we were confident that we had got the last of the little bastards off, everyone had dozens of bites, with Enessa, Sabali and Orlando barely able to stand. In addition to the bites, most of us were soaking wet from trying to get the spiders off in the pool. I was very thankful for my thick chain mail armour - it might not be stealthy, and now it was unpleasantly wet, but it had kept most of the spiders off me and I was in better shape than most at the end of the fight.
I hurried over to where I had seen Zeni go down, to find Arin and Sabali already there. The damage to Zeni’s body was terrible. Like Raphael had earlier, she had two deep stab wounds where the fangs had struck home, but the poison here had clearly done far more harm in the time that we had been fighting. Zeni’s skin had taken on a greenish hue which was definitely strongest at the wound sites, but seemed to have spread across her whole body. Her skin was clammy to the touch and her extremities already felt cold. I felt a hard knot forming in my stomach as we looked desperately for any sign of life. I glanced over at Arin, who was clearly our most experienced healer, and he just shook his head sadly. Sabali had his strange medicine pouch out again and was selecting and discarding each little bundle of herbs in turn, apparently without finding anything of use. He turned to Arin and I expectantly, and we both tried to explain that, while we could sometimes fan the flames of life back to brightness where they had become dim, when the spirit had departed, there was nothing we could do. At that, he looked absolutely stricken and bent low over Zeni’s body calling her name - although really it was more of a howl than anything else, a truly heart-wrenching sound.
If I didn’t know better, I would say that that cry reached Zenirith in the very antechamber of the Raven Queen’s Hall. I’m no doctor, but I would have sworn to it that body and spirit had parted ways. I think that Arin would have done so too. But, as Sabali, wracked by grief, called her name, Arin spotted the tiniest movement of a pulse in her neck - it was very faint and irregular, but it was there. In lieu of a mirror, we held polished steel up to her lips, and although her chest still seemed unmoving, the shiny surface became very lightly clouded. We looked to Arin, but he was exhausted after the battle, and so, although I had never actually done it before, I tried to heal her using a deliberately cast spell, rather than simply by channeling power directly through my own body. To my enormous relief it worked. Her pulse steadied, the colour in her face was restored and her breathing became deep and even. As I continued the magic, the bleeding stopped and the bite marks also started to close up.
This new healing spell, although potent in its way, did not seem to be capable of clearing the poison out of her system entirely, and so she remained unconscious, although now sleeping peacefully. Sabali, who was himself in a very bad way but would not leave her side even to get bandaged up, estimated that it would be another hour or so before she woke. I don’t know how he arrived at that conclusion, but it turned out to be quite accurate. While we waited, we filled the hessian sacks which Altria had given us with the ephedra moss, and once Zeni was on her feet again we made our slow and painful way back the ladders, emerging blinking into the bright morning light which streamed through Altria’s windows.
In which Sabali Impersonates a Chicken
7th Quen’pillar 835PD
Early Morning, 7th Quen’pillar 835PD
I write this as the dawn light begins to filter through the kitchen windows in Altria’s cottage. The latter part of yesterday turned out to be rather unfortunate, as I will recount for you, but I do also have some very exciting news of my own, which I will save for the end!
First, to continue my tale from where it was broken off yesterday, we turned aside from the main path, as instructed, and almost immediately we could hear raised voices in the trees ahead. It was agreed (more or less), that Raphael and I would go and converse with the speakers to gauge their intentions, while other members of the party would remain hidden close by, ready to offer assistance should it be required.
This we did, and as we drew closer we could see three men, one of them very large, all dressed in dirty but serviceable leather armour. They looked to be quite formidable opponents should it come to that. The three were gathered around a small cookfire and had clearly been engaged in an intense discussion before we arrived. Lord Raphael hailed them with wary politeness, and their response was surly and hostile, but not immediately violent. As he made some simple enquiries as to their business, I could see them assessing the threat that we might pose, as well as the potential coin to be gained from us. Once his lordship had made them duly aware of his exalted status (do you remember young Thorkel who was sent to train with us two springs back? Then you will get the idea of what I mean here, although in this instance I think five minutes might actually be overoptimistic), they decided to try to extort some coin from us. Raphael made a move towards them, ostensibly peaceful, although I'm not sure what his true intentions were.
What happened next was rather confused, but I think that one of the spellcasters conjured a sound of some sort behind the men, and they turned in some consternation. As they did so I could see that all three were already wounded (it looked like the strike of a beast of some sort rather than by a blade). Someone, Enessa most likely, fired an arrow from the trees which landed in the dirt at the captain’s feet. They were clearly rattled, and I took the opportunity to try to talk some sense into them - after all, neither of us was ready for a fight, and it really wasn’t necessary. These were most likely petty criminals, no more than that - they claimed to have left Altria's place unmolested, and although they were hard to read, I was inclined to believe them. I thought that my attempts to calm things down, backed by a rather more aggressive posture from Lord R, were working too. They were tense as a bowstring but also looked weary, and seemed glad for a reason not to quarrel with two armored knights and an unknown number of persons concealed in the trees. They had some story about having lost their gold after hiding it somewhere underground, and, unlikely as it sounded, perhaps it was true. The situation could, I think, have been defused then and there, and we would have gone our separate ways, without anyone needing to get hurt.
What actually occurred was not that. As the men bent to collect their belongings and move on, what can only be described as a comedy chicken noise came from the trees. It was loud, and persistent, and rang out mockingly across the clearing. Someone, Zeni I think, started shouting rather unconvincingly about losing their chicken. At the time I didn’t know who had made the original noise, but it later turned out to have been Sabali. I don’t know what the lad was thinking, just a foolish and ill-timed jest I expect, but it was too much for the bandits. Lord R had a face like absolute thunder, while I tried desperately to remind them how prudent and sensible it was to part without violence. I'm just going to give you a moment to stop there and imagine the scene, it's worth the effort - the whole thing had become rather ridiculous after all. I felt for the bandits, they were all three already on edge, feeling confused and threatened, and this injury to their pride was the last straw. Two drew their bows and began to fire somewhat wildly into the trees, while the big man ran at Raphael and myself. We exchanged a glance, and with regret we drew our blades to meet his.
The fight was unpleasant and bloody, but it could have been a lot worse had it not been for Zenirith’s quick thinking in using magic to somehow put the two smaller ruffians to sleep. That left only the big lad to deal with, and he was handful enough. The combat itself was a rather squalid affair, with us mobbing the man from three sides and him lashing out viciously with sword and dagger in all directions. Only one thing happened to make the fight a notable one. As you might expect, even once the bloodshed had started I would have liked to try to talk the man down and try to get the situation back under control before anyone was killed, but I had only thought of doing so from a position of strength, making him realise that he had no chance and would be better off talking. Not so Zeni, who walked unarmed and unarmored right into the midst of the melee, and tried to reason with the man to give it up and live to fight another day. That took real guts - she was clutching her spellbook like her life depended on it, but magic or no magic, it was a hell of a risk. I don’t know why she did it, perhaps she felt somehow responsible for Sabali and his foolishness, but it almost cost her her life. The bandit captain struck her down with a single powerful blow, and she could very easily have bled out right there on the ground had the fight continued much longer. It is common wisdom in Vasselheim that wizards are cowardly and selfish, and I confess that the use of purely arcane power still puts a shiver down my back, but I’ve rarely seen anyone take such a gamble with their own safety to try to save the life of a man to whom they owed absolutely nothing. It was an action that would not have disgraced a devotee of Ilmater, and I will not soon forget it.
With a lot of help from ranged attacks, we eventually managed to subdue the bandit leader, and Orlando finished him with a shot from fairly close range. By that point Zeni was still down, Raphael and Sabali were badly hurt and I myself had a few nasty cuts and bruises. We were all breathing hard, and still full of adrenaline from the fight. Clearly in a lot of pain from a nasty gash in his side which had been only partly closed by Arin’s healing power, Raphael bent down, scooped up some of the blood pooling around the body of the dead bandit, and smeared it across the fur of Sabali’s hand and forearm, saying ‘his life wasn't yours to take, and you took it’, and then he walked stiffly away shaking his head. Now, Sabali had eyes only for the unconscious and bleeding Zeni at this point so I’m not sure that he really took in what was being said, but Raphael’s voice was tight with anger and disapproval.
Wind managed to bandage Zeni’s wounds enough to stop the bleeding, and then I channeled a trickle of celestial energy, to bring her back to wakefulness. She was still very pale and shaken up as I pulled her to her feet and stepped back to give her space, but she was alive, which was the main thing. Sabali looked immensely relieved to see her standing again, and immediately offered her his arm to lean on, despite his own considerable injuries. They are a strange pair, but clearly devoted to one another.
The other two bandits woke up in due course, and having been disarmed of their crossbows, they were peaceable enough. Simple village fellows by the sound of it. They posed no immediate threat to us, and so the best thing seemed to be to simply send them on their way. Here again, Raphael took the lead. I had turned to him for a quiet word of advice as to whether it might be better to keep the men with us, for their own safety, and, without a word, he simply took control of the situation and dispatched the two of them back to the Eagle’s Landing, with an instruction to ‘tell Rebur that Raphael sent you’. I didn't disagree with this course of action, although I hope that it brings no trouble to Rebur’s door (mind you, he’ll probably have molded them into heroes of legend by the time we get back to town...), but his manner was, lets say, very noble.
Before they left, Enessa tried to pry more details from the two men about this story of the buried gold, but they just said that it was ‘down below’. She looked around for any sort of entrance to an underground space, but found nothing.
Just up the road we found a small shrine to Melora (to my shame, I did not recognise the unfamiliar icons, they use all sorts of different ones here in Tal Dorei, but thankfully Arin was there to mend my ignorance). Arin then led us in a quick prayer, and the two of us, and Zeni, left a silver on the altar in thanks for our safe passage through the forest. After the combat, it felt good to wash my spirit clean again in the aura of the divine, even an aura as turbulent and unpredictable as that of the Maiden of the Deepwood.
Some people also noticed a fairy circle close by, but Raphael cautioned us against approaching it. Sabali pointed out some strands of spider silk, or something similar in the trees nearby, but it was agreed by all that now was not the time to go looking for trouble. Or at least Wind gave Sabali to understand that this was not up for discussion, and thus unanimity was achieved.
We approached a cottage in a clearing, surrounded by well tended gardens, and knocked on the door, calling out for the apothecary, Altria, whose house this surely was. To my relief, she answered promptly, and seemed both welcoming and in good health. After our encounter with the bandits, I had been quite concerned for her wellbeing, but she seemed to be fine. She invited us in, and kindly patched up our wounds while we explained the purpose of our visit. She suggested that the townsfolk are most likely suffering from some sort of swamp fever, and said that she would like to assist with medicine, but that she has been unable to gather a key ingredient for the recipe. Her manner when we mentioned the town seemed a little stiff, but she seemed willing enough to help.
It took a little bit of coaxing, but eventually she told us that she had accidentally disturbed some creature in the caves below the cottage, where this moss that she needs grows. It had become aggressive (the creature, not the moss), and now she was afraid to venture down there. She obviously felt bad about it, but these things are easily enough done. Caves always seem to contain some nasty beastie or another, and drawing their attention is all too easy, however careful you may be. We obviously need to get down there and clear it out, but, seeing how tired everyone looked, we decided to wait until we had had a bit more of a chance to recuperate first.
While Altria began to prepare what she needed to make a batch of medicine once we had the moss, Zeni offered to cook dinner. At this point Enessa remembered that she had left her wolf carcass by the bandits’ camp. She went back for it, but Ussi (Enessa has a young panther with her, named Ussi, did I mention that? Also a hawk) had clearly got there first, and it was all chewed up and torn. She was all for roasting the remains as an evening meal, but was persuaded to instead try hunting for some more wholesome meat for the pot. Orlando shouldered his bow and also disappeared off into the twilight with the same goal.
While they were gone, Sabali and Arin gathered a few plants and herbs from nearby. Arin discussing in detail with Altria the uses of some of the plants in her garden. She seemed glad of the company and impressed with the speed at which he soaked up the new information. I spent some time cleaning and oiling my sword and armour, and then helped Zeni with the meal as much as I could. Wind rattled on about how we might be able to sell the sacks of extra moss (dried ephedra is the proper name, apparently) she imagined us bringing up from the caverns below, while Raphael dozed on the easy chair, seemingly overcome with fatigue.
Orlando returned with a brace of rabbits, and Zeni produced a marvellous rabbit and vegetable stew, which was greatly appreciated by all. There were a few laughs, as well as a few pointed remarks about chickens, as we talked over the day’s events, but all in all, we were just glad that everyone was hale and hearty enough to enjoy the meal. There had been a few close calls today, and none of us was in the mood to take anything for granted. Most of the rest of the conversation revolved around herbalism, and my thoughts wandered for a while. Enessa went outside and I could see her throwing little coloured balls for her hawk to retrieve. It was certainly getting much better at fetching on command by the end of the session and both bird and huntress seemed to be enjoying themselves.
It was agreed that we should keep a watch - Altria said that she had so far had no trouble from the creature at night, having boarded up both the cellar door and the mouth of the well, but remembering the strands of silk in the forest, we didn’t feel like taking any chances.
Raphael and I took the second watch, and before retiring the first watch told us that they had seen a flicker of light coming from the fairy ring, but nothing more. Raphael stared out in that direction intently, alert for any sign of movement, but I must admit that my attention slipped. Something had happened earlier which I needed some time to think about (yes, I will tell you my news in due course, be patient!), and I could not really focus properly on watching the empty night. After an hour or so Raphael nudged me, and said that he had seen movement by the circle, and wanted to go and investigate it. As he stood, he seemed to reach some other decision he had been weighing in his mind - ‘you should speak to the Tabaxi’ he said ‘what he did wasn’t right, and it cost that man his life. I think that he respects you.’ With that, he strode off into the darkness without waiting for an answer. Was it a suggestion? An instruction? Friendly advice? Not at all clear.
Now, as you might imagine, I was surprised by what he said. I’ve told you the tale in it’s essentials, leaving out nothing of consequence, and I think you will agree that the man who died was led to that fate by his own choices and no-one else’s. His blood was not on Sabali’s hands (except literally of course, as it went). Raphael wasn't entirely wrong though - someone did almost lose their life as a result of Sabali’s foolishness, and that person was his sworn sister Zenirith (although of course Lord R himself would be a plausible second candidate, had Arin not been on hand to get him back on his feet). Sabali could see that as well as anyone else. If he’s too stupid, or too stubborn, to see the consequences of his own actions when they are right under his nose (and I very much doubt that he is either of these things), then saying something will surely just make him dig in his heels. Respect goes both ways, after all. As I write this, I can see Zeni through the window, standing the last watch of the night with Wind. She sits in the dawn light, a little apart from Wind, and looks lost in her own thoughts. She knows Sabali better than any of us, and if anyone has the right to speak to him about what happened it is her, but she seems content to keep her own council.
Anyway, back to our own watch, and the strange movement in the fairy circle. I saw Raphael make his way cautiously up to the edge of the ring and begin to speak softly in some elven tongue which I did not recognise. Something or someone replied to him in a high, reedy voice, but there seemed no aggression on either side. The conversation continued for a few minutes, and eventually I called out to check on him. He said that he was fine, was speaking with a sprite, which I took to be some sort of fairy, and that he was not in need of any assistance. I was still tempted to get up and investigate for myself, but it had been a long night, and elves have their own ways of dealing with the forest, so I decided to leave well alone unless there was some obvious danger. After a few more minutes of hushed conversation he came back and sat down again, explaining that he had been trying to gather intelligence as to the creature in the caverns, but had learned nothing useful. These sprites, he said, were common enough in Lyrengorn, which is his home, and he seemed well used to speaking with them. They were tricky though, he claimed, and could prey on the unwary or those inexperienced in their ways, which is something that I can readily believe. Eventually our watch was relieved and we headed to our beds.
And now I will tell you my big news, and I thank you for your patience in getting to this point. Before sleeping last night (the first time, not after watch) I went a little way away from the house, and I ran through my meditations and exercises, as I do every night, practising the mental disciplines that should, in theory, produce a shield or healing energies and so on. I felt, as I always do, a profound peace settle over me as my hands formed the familiar gestures, and I spoke the words of the rituals softly under my breath. And then, to my astonishment, and for the first time in my life, I actually felt the strength of Bahamut rise within me, answering my call. I was so surprised that I almost fumbled the casting, but I caught it again, and there before me, hanging in the air, was a perfectly formed prayer of blessing. I stared at it, and it was beautiful, a deep golden colour and pulsing with a soft light. I could even see the fine lines where it could be divided up into three parts and sent out into the world - some tiny part of Bahamut’s grace made manifest in the world. Reluctantly, but unable to hold it longer, I allowed the energy to fade and and tried another, a simple prayer of shelter from evil things. I felt the mantle of protection settle on my shoulders like a silken cape, just as the Reverends had described it. I was so happy, and proud, that I thought that my heart might burst with it. At that point though, I was suddenly weary to my bones with the effort of it, so clearly there is a hard limit on how much power the body can withstand to channel. Still, what a revelation! I will try to ask Arin about it when I get a chance, he must know more about this sort of thing, but Alwyn, I do wish that you were here to share this with me, I could really use your counsel in these strange new times.
People are waking now and there seems to be a general movement towards breakfast, so I will close here for the moment. Today we head down to deal with the spider in the cellar!
The First Meeting
6th Quen’pillar 835PD
Ceri’s Journal - Written to be sent in batches whenever practical to Alwyn Gailwood, The Platinum Sanctuary, Vasselheim. To be opened in chronological order. Mid afternoon, 6th Quen’pillar 835PD
Today I arrived in Drynna after an uneventful journey of around a week.
The past few days I have had the pleasure of a couple of travelling companions on the road - Arin Verus, a priest of the Cobalt Soul, and Raphael Neverwood, a hedge knight in the service of the Moonweaver. Their conversation certainly made the miles seem shorter, and they both had some powerful tales to tell (if you have never heard of the ceremony of the Moonweaver Ribbons, do look it up, it’s well worth the trouble).
As I mentioned in my previous letter, I had a feeling about going to Drynna - one of the most powerful that I have ever experienced, and the only thing I knew about the town was that it was the home town to that rather strange young woman who I ran into in Emon soon after I arrived here (her name was Wind, if you recall). I am sure, by the way, that you all had a good laugh at my expense when you read that letter, I must confess that I am somewhat shamefaced recalling the details myself. Even looking back only a year, my past self seems now very green when it comes to the ways of the road. Anyway, I made what I considered at the time to be a very shrewd guess that I was needed in connection somehow with her, but coming into town it seemed like a fairly sleepy little place, no great stage for a drama of the sort that Mistress Wind prefers.
We arrived at an Inn on the outskirts of town, and almost as soon as I walked into the door I had another very strong sense that this was somehow exactly where I needed to be. Two such experiences in the space of a week, so strongly, certainly got my full attention. I didn’t have much time to ponder it though, we hadn’t even had a chance to sit down when who should walk in but Wind herself. As is her way, she breezed up to the bar, quite purposefully drawing all eyes with both her outfit and her smile, and helped herself to a drink without so much as a by-your-leave. I was surprised how pleased I was to see her again, even as I worried about what sort of trouble she might be in. She seemed glad to see me too, to say the least, and once she had finished welcoming me in her own indomitable style, I was rather embarrassed to see how much of the travelling dust from my mail had now transferred itself to her silks.
However, good as it was to see Wind again, she was about to be completely upstaged. You might find it hard to believe what I am about to tell you next, but the door to the Inn opened once again to admit our very own Orlando Boom! Yes, Orlando is here in Tal Dorei. On guild business apparently, although I have yet to get to the bottom of that. Honestly, I was so glad to see him that I could have cried then and there. You know how homesick I have been at times this year, and just the sound of his broad gnomish drawl hit me pretty hard. That faint, or not so faint, smell of powder that always clings to him wafted through the inn and it was enough to take me straight back to his little workshop.
Delighted as I was to see him, and eager to hear all the news from home, his showing up within twenty minutes of my own arrival, and Wind’s, was far too much of a coincidence, and I began at this point to be seriously concerned about what might be going on in this quiet little port. Over the next hour or so, the cast of characters at the Inn became more and more unlikely - the Inn’s chef it turned out, is some sort of minor, or still training, wizard, and as well as that, she also seemed to be the long lost and newly reunited sister (although clearly not by blood) of one of the patrons, a large Tabaxi. Not an hour later, what looked like a Drow ranger stumbled through the door, making eight of us in total (the barkeep having retreated to the kitchen at this point to prepare more food for the growing crowd). At that moment, as the drow woman crossed the threshold, I had the most powerful flash of divine intuition that I have ever experienced. It is almost impossible to describe that sort of thing without resorting to cliche, but suffice to say that in that moment I knew for certain that this group of people belonged together and that there was some significant purpose behind our meeting.
I was not the only one that thought so either. Just as we were finally settling to our meal, the proprietor of the Inn returned unexpectedly. He is a flamboyant character, to say the least, but he seemed to have something of the same sense that I did about the import of what was happening. You will tell me that I am seeing meanings and portents in every corner, I know, but honestly, you had to be there - and even the innkeep could feel it too, which just goes to show how powerful a sense it was. Something whole had been made from disparate elements and the sense of a new beginning was almost ringing in the air.
This publican, Rebur, his name was, accompanied us (herded us might be a better term) into town and introduced us (as the next Vox Machina, would you believe it, absolutely mortifying) to a local bigwig by the name of Councilman Marten Louriette. The Councilman told us of an apothecary to the north of the city who has not been heard of in some little time, and about whom concerns were beginning to be raised. There is some sort of sickness in town which affects the children particularly severely, and this apothecary manufactures a medication which may be helpful. Loriette’s own daughter is suffering from this malady, and the poor man was clearly very stressed about the whole situation. He offered us a fair sum of gold to investigate the situation, and hopefully bring back some of these potions.
To cut a slightly long story short (I will tell you more about that later perhaps, if there is time), everyone agreed to this mission and we headed out north, led by the hunter, Enessa. We encountered a small pack of wolves in the woodland to the north, but dealt with them without too many issues. Knowing that Orlando had my back in the fight felt just like old times of course, but all of my new companions acquitted themselves well. We were a surprisingly well balanced group for a bunch of strangers thrown together by happenstance, and everyone agreed that it was very good luck that it should be so. Perhaps.
To that end (and so that you can mock me roundly when none of this portentous rambling comes to pass), I enclose a brief word on my first impressions of each of my companions.
Familiar Faces:
Orlando Boom - needs no introduction, of course. He is his own idiosyncratic self (if slightly troubled by whatever business brings him west), and a sight for sore eyes.
Wind - I have spoken to you of her before, and if anything her flame burns even more brightly out here in the sticks than it did in Emon. I have no doubt she is up to her old tricks, and it’s hard to know what the locals make of her, but she seems thriving enough. I won’t lie, she still makes me nervous as hell, but I’ve never met anyone quite like her. I tried to warn Orlando to watch his purse around her, but he just gave me a rather odd smile as if I were stating the blindingly obvious.
Companions on the Road:
Arin Verus - a priest of Ioun, and a brother of the Cobalt Soul. Rather tight-lipped about his own business, but certainly quick and sharp with questions. No surprises there I suppose, we’ve drilled with enough Cobalt Soul troops in Vasselheim to know their ways. He was very handy with his mace when we faced the wolves, and even managed a little healing magic as needed. If he also sensed a divine hand in our meeting then he gave no sign at all, but if anyone is alert to coincidences and probabilities, it is Ioun’s folk. A useful man to have by one’s side by any measure, but hard to read.
Raphael Neverwood - a noble half elven lord, from somewhere up in the north of Tal Dorei. Now, as you know, being a lord doesn’t mean the same thing here as it does at home - many of the lords and ladies here are lazy, even completely idle, if you can credit that - but Neverwood is not typical. He serves the Priestess of Sehanine, and declares himself sworn to good works in her honour. He certainly embraces the poverty of a true servant of the divine (and is more than generous with what little he has), and yet he retains a good portion of the arrogance of a Tal Dorei nobleman. He wears his ring openly, uses his title freely, and then demurs when people defer to the status he has claimed. The Councilman at one point said that he felt shamed by Neverwood’s honour, and I know what he meant. Still, you cannot blame a man for his little vanities, and I suspect that at times it is an effective tactic in getting to the heart of matters.
New Acquaintances (please bear in mind that I have known these people scarcely half a day when I write this):
Zenirith the Wizard Chef - a Tiefling, like Wind, but very different in appearance. She was working in the Eagle’s Landing as some sort of cook / barkeep, but seems to have a significant magical talent. They think about this sort of arcane magic very differently here than in Vasselheim, and no-one batted much of an eyelid at her carrying what I can only assume was a spellbook quite openly in town. In the battle she threw some vicious fire magic at the wolves, and although it didn’t often connect, I could see how much power it might have once she has more control over it. She has some sort of close connection with Sabali from their mutual past.
Sabali - this gentleman is a Tabaxi, the first I have ever had the honour of meeting properly. He has the colouring of a snow leopard, such as you might see occasionally in the mountains at home, as well as the imposing physical presence of that great feline. In combat he seems to fight as often with his fists as with his sword, and I have heard that this is common among monks, which is what he appears to be. He speaks common with a strong accent which I could not place, and much of what he said made little sense to me. My knowledge of the local customs and idiom here still leaves much to be desired - I am sure that he made perfect sense to everyone else.
Last, but not least, Enessa, the huntress - this woman appears to be a drow elf, unlikely as that seems in a mostly human town. She arrived at the Inn bearing a huge boar on her back, and as I write she is preparing some sort of sling to carry with us one of the carcasses of the wolves which we have just killed (somewhat to the irritation of Raphael, who does not seem inclined to linger). She guided us expertly through the woods, and warned us of the approach of the wolves in good time - clearly she knows these forests well. However, she seems a bit of a prickly character. I could see that Raphael was wary of her from the first, but I don’t know the reason for that. The innkeep seemed to know and like her well enough, but then again, he obviously is the sort who gets along well enough with everyone.