Ragnos
Steward of Earth, Spymaster of the Great One Ragnos (a.k.a. "The Peacebringer")
Physical Description
Body Features
17th of Flamerule - After his encounter with the banshee of Ironspire Keep, bathed by her necrotic wail, Ragnos' marbled skin has taken on the qualities of snow quartz; translucent and clouded, allowing glimpses of his skeletal structure to be visible through his stonelike skin. The black breccia that once traced his form now ebb and flow like swirling shadow vein, dancing upon his frame.
From the gorge in his chest, a dull sickening radiance glows, pulsing with a rhythm as if it were the beating of a heart. That same glow just present within the cracks that line Ragnos' face.
He has changed.
Children
Steward of Earth
15th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
So, it would seem that the answers I sought only raised more questions.
As the others awoke and Dorgo began loading his wagon, we saw – in the morning’s light – a spire rising above the forest in the distance. Owing to either last night’s events, the darkness, or possibly both…it escaped our notice until now.
The merchant called it the Ironspire, a watchtower the Wianar family used to keep an eye on the Satyrwood…and the elves of old. It seems as if Magistrate Aeistl’s family has a long history in these lands, but the spire itself has become home to spirits and ghouls. Dorgo has no interest in exploring it, however the others…well, Dorgo is willing to sell whatever we find.
Ah, Dorgo. He has also sworn to introduce me to a priest of Ilmater known as “the scarred one.” He believes this priest may have the answers I seek.
We didn’t travel for long before coming upon mounds of earth dotting the roadside. At first, I thought them to be graves but upon further inspection, they appeared to be burrows. From one sprang a curious – yet oddly familiar – creature. Small, but fierce and determined. He resembled a rodent of sorts, but stood not much shorter than Boddington. This little one, he recognized me, and even paid me some manner of reverence. Calling himself Durlaven, he addressed me as the “Steward of Earth.”
The title holds no meaning to me, though I sense it does for this “Durlaven” and his people. Curious, I asked if he recognized this coin and sure enough…yes. It seems as if it is the official currency of the Royal Lands of Akanul, minted in a place called Airspur. If this is true, why does it bear my likeness?
My mind spun, I had little time to ponder, for this Durlaven then addressed me as Tradrem Kethrod, Spymaster for the Great One. He says this is my name. Could it be? Or has he merely confused me for another? It was said that I disappeared in the midst of battle, swallowed by the earth itself or taken to the afterlife by some divine being.
We learned that his people, and King, were hunting a great beast who had been tearing through the land…eating smaller creatures and leaving destruction in its wake. I sore to Durlaven that we would bring this beast to its end, and so we set off once more.
It wasn’t my finest moment of tracking, nor was the druid faring much better, yet we found our prey largely thanks to a hunting party made up of Durlaven’s people and other curious folk. They subdued the beast, a giant of some sort, and we three delivered the final blows.
It was after this that I had the pleasure of meeting Durlaven’s king, Arvar Hillsorrow, who recognized me as well. Much of what he revealed mirrored what I had learned from speaking with Durlaven, though King Hillsorrow indicated that his great grandfather knew me personally some 120 years ago. How can this be?
These other creatures, half horse and half men, insisted we meet with their elder. We informed them of the others at our camp and insisted upon their retrieval, to which they agreed. We would escort these Erina back to their dens, gather the others, and return with these “centaurs” to their camp.
At the burrows, King Hillsorrow presented me with a token of his appreciation – a charm, fashioned after an almiraj’s horn. This was kind, as it was within his family’s possession for generations. It is a gift I humbly accept and now wear alongside this coin. I will do my best to honor Durlaven and King Hillsorrow’s opinion of me.
Returning to the Timindar camp, we collected the others and made for the tented city of these warriors. Almost immediately, Aela was taken to speak with their elder while we waited and then dined. Dorgo – impatient as ever – insisted we depart shortly after.
The warriors gifted each of us with their finest horses, and one of their smallest for Boddington. I wanted to make a joke, as I’ve been experimenting with levity, but I felt that may have been a sensitive subject and he was already…unsure…of his riding capabilities as it was.
By nightfall, we arrived at Mussum where I finally met this Scarred One. In the midst of self flagellation, the meaning of his moniker was made quite apparent. Laying hands upon me, he relieved this sense of weakness I’ve felt since Azmodeus returned to us. Unexpected, to say the least, but not unappreciated. We spoke further and though he could not offer any more answers than I’ve received this day, he did take upon himself the duty of safeguarding these curious and obscene objects we’ve encountered.
I hope leaving them in his care will not prove to be a terrible miscalculation of trust.
“Eles Wianar.” A conversation with Lady Astil is in order…this forefather of hers, a former lord. A great evil. There is much to think about after this day’s events, so I shall reflect.
Lord of the Rotted Tower
14th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
ᐧ 14th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
Each day has been more harrowing than the last, and I have yet to discover anything that may inform me of my past.
We took to the trail with Dorgo, sights set on Mussum. The letter Azmodeus found made mention of a site called Timindar, a meeting place for these bandits. It seems as if they intend to bring this accursed vessel there – or at least its contents. What is the significance of this eye?
Along our travels, I watched as Aela set out into the Satyrwood. She seemed drawn, lured, towards what appeared to be fireflies. I meant to stop her, but then I heard the laughter. So familiar, but distant? Like an echo of something just beyond memory. I had to find it, and I set out as well. It was Boddington’s call that returned me to my senses, and we would drag Aela back to hers.
They were most assuredly not fireflies, but…perhaps once pixies? Not quite living but no more dead than myself. I could feel them sapping our strength, feeding from our essence. No matter, as they were dealt with.
As we drew closer, we revealed the truth to Dorgo – there were more bandits nearby, and we would need to…attend to them…if our passage was to be safe. He did protest, but we were convincing. He and Boddington stayed with the wagon, off road and out of sight. The rest of us crept through the woods, and found ruins within them. This was Timindar, or what was left of it. It seems as if much time has passed since any meaningful life flourished here.
Surprisingly, the woodsman was the first to act. Azmodeus ensnared one of these bandits as they were looking over their goods. I applaud his zeal, but his follow through was lacking. The bandit was surely about to alert others and drew his knife, so I took matters into my own hands and secured him. We left him bound, and proceeded strategically.
We lured another, and as he was distracted, I put an end to him. His weapon was certainly more capable than the bow I acquired the other day, so I claimed it by right of might.
Again, Asmodeus rushed in. He continues to surprise me. He bound more bandits with some sort of magical vegetation. This time, though, he fared worse and they broke free. The first to raise their hand against him fell to my new contraption… a mighty bolt finding purchase in the ruffian’s chest. Within moments, the others converged on Azmodeus and any element of surprise we had was lost. As was Aela. She had been with the others until she wasn’t, and appeared from one of the ruins – looking battered – once the fight ended. I mean to ask her the nature of this later.
Landeer exhibited great prowess in battle, moving in ways I have not witnessed him before. Another curiosity. As I sundered another soul from a bandit who seemed to be in charge, I was struck with an arrow much like my earlier target. I intended to make another offering, but the coward escaped. Returning to the fray, Landeer and Azmodeus were clearly outmatched. One remained, and we stood toe to toe. He struck well, but I struck better.
Then…I heard Her call once more. I do not know what came over me, but I cared for nothing more than the blood of the bound bandit. I remember flashes, pained faces of others I do not recognize. Agony. Fear. Who were they?
As the thoughts cleared, I found myself standing over the bandit Azmodeus had earlier surprised…my sword in his gut. Why did I feel as if a burden was lifted? Why did I feel…proud? And with that pride, another feather appeared, and I felt…emboldened.
I returned to the center of the ruins, Landeer clinging to life. I called for Aela, remembering the strange tonic she kept. Boddington suggested it may possess restorative properties, and this was surely the time to test his theory. As she attended to the priest, I turned my focus to Azmodeus.
There was no question in my mind, he was no longer with us. Even now, I’m…unsure…what moved me to beseech Her, but if She could restore me? So I asked. And She answered.
With the feather, now white, tied into his hair…Azmodeus gasped and returned to us. That feeling I had after claiming the bound bandit’s life was gone, and I felt weaker. Surely a price paid for Her “mercy.”
As the others settled, I retrieved Boddington and Dorg, leading them to the ruins where we would make camp. I offered them no alternative.
Today’s events left me with a great deal to think upon. One of the chests these fools had in their possession bore the visage of a one eyed skull. I can describe no other feeling than dread when I saw it…”Lord of the Rotted Tower” echoing in my mind.
Why does She seem to reward me for these dishonorable kills? A bound man, beaten and defenseless. There is no glory in that conquest. Is it merely death she craves?
The laughter in the Satyrwood. Why did it affect me so? And why was it so familiar? Why can I hear it still, as I hold these poppets?
For now, I rest and keep watch. I have questions for the others come morning – where did Aela go? What came over the gentle priest? What did the woodsman see when he was no longer with us?
Tomorrow, questions. And Mussum.
X Marks The Spot
13th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
ᐧ 13th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
Well, that was an odd day. One that only brought more questions by its end…
For now, none seem to recognize this coin. However, I haven’t had the opportunity to question many we’ve encountered. Nor they the ability to answer. Though I’ve stayed my hand when possible, I cannot predict when I will be called again no more than I can control Aela’s rage or Boddington’s, well…Boddington in general.
After the others awoke, we made for Joybringer Ineack, a priestess of the goddess called Liira. This is not a name that stirs any meaning or resonance within me, yet I understand she is revered by her followers. They seem compelled to rid themselves of their clothing and revel in her name. One such reveler was a tiny shade of a man, I believe his name was Arof. We learned he kept another cultist in his cellar, and how he survived the encounter is beyond me.
This cultist made the mistake of insulting Aela, and was…unable…to answer any questions. Sask’s timing was curious, but I felt no need to hide the body from him. He hired us to safeguard the city, and one more dead cultist should be more a relief than a burden. His only concern was that the body be removed from Stonewood, and I obliged.
We thought to travel ahead of Dorgo and clear the path between the town and Mussum, to ensure a safe journey. After some bartering, he agreed to let us take his wagon. Asmodeus’ map signified an area of interest, in which we found various baubles and items, but were shortly thereafter beset by bandits.
I found the cultist’s body useful in dispatching one of these curs, Boddington proved his aim steady once more, and the Elves were both more than formidable in battle. I find myself surprised by Asmodeous, I would not have assumed him to take to combat so quickly but he too has proven a valuable ally.
These bandits had signet rings made of Jet, matching similar markings upon their person in the form of a dagger. I took anything of value or use from the one I offered the Matron, but Asmodeus found a letter upon another.
We decided to return to Stonewood, the day was nearing its end. Any remaining threats can be attended to along the way to Mussum, surely. As we traveled, I couldn’t help but shake a familiar feeling. A vision, perhaps? Landmasses suspended in the sky to the West. Is such a thing possible?
Returning to Stonewood, Touris was agreeable to the same arrangement – I would watch after the Earthen Bough as he and the others rest, and I do so now, as I fill these pages with yet more questions.
Tomorrow, we will head to Mussum alongside Dorgo. Perhaps there, those he seeks to trade with may be able to tell me something, or anything, of this coin. Where is it from? Why does the visage bear such a striking resemblance?
Perhaps I will hear her call once more, as well. Was today’s offering insufficient?
Until tomorrow.
Stonewood
12th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
ᐧ 12th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
I am called Peacebringer, but these words mean nothing. There is an emptiness where I should have memory, any sense of who I am or where I come from. I feel newborn, thrust into this world with no one to guide me, only h̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶s̶ her command.
In the few hours I’ve spent in this strange land, among these people, I have only collected more questions, when I seek answers. It seems I have also gathered companions –
The Devout, he seems kind, but may be just as lost as I find myself.
The Devilkin, curiously oblivious of his namesake, draws a sharp eye from the people of this town. That may bring unwanted attention.
The Mad Tinkerer, there seems to be a type of…genius…to him, if not a touch unbalanced.
The Shifting Season, she is formidable and a strong ally, but may be just as unpredictable as the small one.
We’ve taken to one another’s company for the time being, and quickly found ourselves amidst murder, cultits, and bandits. I don’t believe these are isolated occurrences, but how they’re connected is beyond me. The others know this land much better than I, but they don’t seem to have any definitive answers either. This town’s defenses are less than novice, an overwhelmed sheriff throwing farmhands and children into currents too fast for them to tread.
We are to depart North, our aim to thin out the bandits who attack caravans on the road. Sheriff Sask has empowered us to act on his authority, but I only care to safeguard the merchant Dorgo’s travels. While he may not recognize this coin, perhaps his contacts or fellow guild members may.
It seems as if we may become involved in some religious matters as well. As I readied myself for rest, zealots of a deity or power named Imix set themselves ablaze and attacked outside of Touris’ tavern. I should ask him why that seemed to be their target, that is rather curious.
Rest. After this day’s events, even now, I feel as if I have just awoken. As the others ate, I felt no appetite. The only need I have felt since arriving at this place was the call to cave that cultist’s skull. The Matron’s voice beckoning from the dark once more. Now, a gift? A single feather fallen from the night’s sky. Its mere presence makes me feel…more. It simply makes me feel.
Perhaps these writings will help my mind to focus, and reveal what eludes me still. For now, I suppose I should attempt sleep, even if for a short while.
ᐧ 13th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
Well, that was odd.
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