Gayle Hartney
Acolyte of Daralei; purchased friend
Acolyte Gayle Hartney
A young apprentice cleric of the Church of Daralei. Displaying the full wisdom of his long 15ish years, Gayle is a studious young man with dark hair and blue eyes, slender and robe-clad. Never far from his books, but very far away from the weapons and armour he clearly needs while travelling with this crew.
The Hartney family is an old lineage within Greyloch, and Gayle is the youngest of the line. With three older brothers, he was effectively destined for the clergy. Thankfully he enjoys the study and service involved, even if he strongly suspects his father paid to ensure he is kept from unsavory assignments in The Mount, if not his placement there from the beginning. So, of course, he volunteers for every odd, far-flung duty he can.
While he seems moderately sheltered, Gayle has actually seen a lot of the world. He spent a year as an under-squire for his oldest brother in Valwall and lived in Orham with his second-oldest brother when not attending training in Calett. Even with all these wonderful opportunities, Gayle has no interest in military life or assuming lordly duties (his third brother, Ralek, has that handled), content to journal and study and, more recently, chronicle for Master Xylund and his friends.
Plus, they now have this bitchin’ library…
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Blue
Hair
Short, dark brown
Height
5'6"
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Research!
Libraries are comforting, even libraries that smell of sulfur and give me a headache. This place is amazing. Terrifying and unhallowed, but amazing.
I’ve never seen a temple from the Yareryn era before, let alone one with a home built on to it. It would be worth several fortunes to the right bidder. I was initially surprised it was still here and not sold off by the surviving Marans, who are obviously little better than tomb robbers and deserve to be put to the sword. (Afterthought: a little harsh. I blame the conditions. Perhaps public branding would be preferable.) Then we found the Library.
Little wonder they wanted this property. The sheer amount of knowledge in here is staggering, a lifetime of collection lightly laced with obsession. I confess I know little of Amra Maran, but I am certainly intrigued now. It’s unfortunate she fell prey to the mental instabilities so often found in practicing mages. Her notes and findings would be an incredible discovery. We should keep digging, although I fear the best of it was locked away in the destroyed case. That was… bulls … fuc … frus …disappointing. I was not the only one to feel that way. The new arrivals seemed similarly affected.
Ah…our new arrival. Speaking of mental instabilities. Sisters. Tieflings. Mages.
Lovely. Lovely and problematic.
Here in the boons, they may do fine, but when we go home, some measure of subtlety will be required and I am not sure they are up to the task. Particularly now with no clerics of Nenemeth to protect them. A court of Grennan would eviscerate them…perhaps literally. Since they appear to be…“friends” of Master Ulric, that would be a shame. I suppose.
Anyway, enough of the personal prattle. Begin notes.
NALASYS MANOR
Master Tobin looked like a walking corpse and was less chatty. Trappings of nobility, though. And a manservant to boot. Friendly enough. I couldn’t recall what properties were listed under the Maran tax record. I wonder if the main house is in forfeiture. Records check needed.
FEATHERSTONE
Dilapidated, emptied, but of fine design. I am curious who built it and when. The conservatory appears to be built within the remains of a temple to Kellar Elenval (Updated: geshal construction! and half underground. Land slide? Purposeful?) Overgrown and ominous.
Corpse found and blood marks on the floor. Not from the same person. Brother Kern did the honours and we learned a few things, none of them positive. (“Caydeth” written in the margin)
Trapped to the Blessed Moon. Every surface seems to bear arcane marks. Not surprising given the owner. Using Master Ulric’s talents and Lily’s “talents” we were able to pass relatively unscathed. Temples to unknown gods. (Edit: not entirely unknown. Nenemeth and Kellar Elenval were clearly worshiped here as well. No need to be dramatic.)
Master Xylund and Brother Kern led the way, divining arcane fields, which had to be unsettling. This whole location hums with it. Adjoining rooms. Room #1 is a disused supply room (?). Old Teleportation circle in the center. Reminds me of the one back home. One wall is charmed and locked behind powerful spells. Left for the moment. (Addendum: Brother Kern eventually broke the enchantment. He truly does have some power behind him. The air of a tomb in there. Hearts, eyes, harvested portions of various creatures. Meticulous and precise. None of this is comforting.)
Room #2 is a dissection suite, clearly. Larger Circle. Everything in here is rotted, long putrid and unidentifiable. Finely crafted shackles claimed from the garbage, designed for larger, powerful, plane-shifting creatures. Oh dear.
The library itself. A masterwork. Someone was living and working here. The group divided the logs and notes, piecing together a tragedy of a family. Summarized:
Amra Maran (dec.) married a dragonborn Narrakis Vochan (dec) (addendum: appears to be the artist Vochan, previously known as an elf. Possible coincidence. Art history is not my forte, but the paintings seem the real thing.) Two children: Faergar (male-firstborn-unk), Orlatrin (female- unk dec) Orlatrin held the home, while Faergar travelled. Conflict with the Maran Clan. Point of interest: family crest and personal anecdotes suggest Master Davynn has a familial connection.
(Note: interesting genetics. Life span? Appearance variation? Should consult the Mount’s resources when we return.)
Small cache of legal documents found. Deeds, architectural sketches (unfamiliar watermarks), last will and testament, other legal correspondence. Orlatrin attempted several times to gain access to buildings within Mirstone, and then outright purchasing the hamlet. Her arguments were passionate, but not ultimately convincing. (Note: money. Haven’t found any within the home itself. Trade? Bank? Trustee?)
Odd. Amra Maran left instructions to have her body examined upon death. No indication that occurred. No record of death at all, really. Begs the question. Noble families have crypts, generally. Where is the one for the Marans? She had siblings, a deceased mother, other relatives certainly. (Note: Located in Greyloch? Unlikely. Research!)
The Wheel Spins
{Gayle sits in quiet meditation}
Sacred Maiden, Keeper and Spinner of Fate, Guardian of the Door:
We send to You two of our own, who gave of themselves everything in service of strangers, who sought only to make this world better, who loved another as they cared for those around them.
Annwyl y Lleuad of the Ledani Circle, devoted druidess and protector. She fought bravely and with no thought of her own safety, fearless in the face of danger. Consistently torn between duty and family, she nonetheless valued her duty and pushed on despite all obstacles. Those honoured enough to know her will miss her generous spirit and fierce heart.
Master Corrin, trueborn of the Yareryn Haurelledin, bonded to Annie and great friend to us all. He was the bright spark of the party, its heart, humour, and at times conscience, always striving for what is right and kind. He treated all as equals and sacrificed without thought to save any he felt were in need. The civilized world could learn much from his example. He is deeply and sorely missed.
Mistress, we ask that you lift the veil and guide their steps from this journey to the next. Where they walk, they walk together, as fitting an end as could be asked. And where they wander, they carry a piece of each of us, of all those who knew and loved them, of each life they touched.
May Fate favour them until the Wheel spins again and we can claim that spark once more.
Peace be with them and with us.
I chose...poorly
{Half-frozen, mentally numb, rocking slightly by the fire, Gayle reads over his previous notes for comfort}
Day 21
The adventurers procured a wagon and horse, a fine horse by the looks of her. That must have cost a small fortune. Perhaps they are better-heeled than I thought. With our supplies stowed, we began our journey to the heart of Treaty Woods. I am equally excited and petrified. The tales of the deep Woods are not pretty. Many don’t return. The Captain’s words still echo in my head. “In case of emergency.” I hope we never need to find out what that means.
The Woods seem off. One can still see the remnants of destruction here: scorched land, animals frightened off, that vague burnt offering smell. It feels like we’re being followed. Odd clusters of ravens appear out of nowhere and never quite move, yet always manage to stay in view. I would say it was a sign from High Priestess Bowyn, but…well…she’s not precisely in any condition to be giving signs. Hopefully Nenemeth sees Her way clear to bless our travels nonetheless.
We arrived at Camp Venelis, but were not permitted entry. Only Master Xylund was allowed inside. It’s tragic to see such an inviting community shutter itself like that, but I understand the impulse. They have lost a lot, at least according to the Captain. So many people here have. An immense amount of pain and devastation, comfort needed across the board. And here I am, in the back of a wagon, scribbling reports. Perhaps I got too caught up in the excitement and made the wrong choice.
After Master Xylund returned from delivering Her Grace’s parcel, we were once again on the road. The strangeness of the Woods did not disappoint. Animals behaving oddly, even with a Druidess in company. The grandest surprise was the appearance of a firbolg! (sketch enclosed) A massive creature, but soft-spoken and kind. He offered a message for Annie, but more importantly, asked for assistance. A nearby crevasse had become infested and his size prevented him from dealing with it effectively. My understanding of his people was something different. Supposedly, they eschew violence at all costs, but this one had a clutch of rabbits…?….rats….?….on his belt and seemed to have no issue with the crew eradicating whatever had taken residence in the tree. Well, perhaps the research is wrong. Or this one is an outlier. He does have a strange speech pattern. In we go!
Never again! Never. Again. Paralyzed. I was literally paralyzed. Small montrosities infesting the shadows, striking without warning. The bite and those legs and that terrible noise. I shudder to think my theory is correct. It can’t be. I need to get to the emergency stash, whatever it may be. This is beyond us!
As if to prove my point, we found the remains of a Cathol Ros in the selfsame cave, a priest by all appearance. So, sure, why not desecrate the body and loot it for valuables. I am sure that is ABSOLUTELY the wisest course of action here. A dagger was located, but broken. It definitely had the look of a ceremonial tool, confirming my suspicions regarding the cave, its vermin, this corpse, and the fact that we need to be very, VERY far away from all of it.
But no. Of course, no. A door was discovered and with some investigation, so was the means to open it. It looked hopeless at first, but Kern…or should I say Brother Kern…called upon something outside himself. The air stilled and I involuntarily held my breath. It was an amazing moment to be a part of. He pushed past the wards and entered the chamber beyond.
Blessed Daralei, Keeper of Fate, what have we blundered into? Writing covered all walls, tight and small and stifling. Even the sight of those runes made me panic, but I copied as many as I could before scrambling away. (rubbings attached, unable to fully decipher) They wanted to walk in! This was clearly an entrance to a Cathol Ros tunnel, perhaps leading to even more of the blighted things. AND THEY WANTED TO KNOCK ON THEIR DOOR!
Is this what the Captain meant by “expendable”? Can’t breathe.
And with that plan thankfully abandoned, we left. The Druidess was called home, not surprising given the Circles and their stewardship duties. I’m sure they are in need of all hands. Onward we travel.
Day 26 (?)
It’s impossible to track time here. Not even the petty squabbles of the crew can set one day from the next. Somehow the horse was injured, but Master Xylund brought forth another, so we were able to continue, much to my dismay. I lost the box. Brother Kern has it now. I had a moment. They are not concerned…even as the sky flickers and weather bakes and freezes and throws us through brambles and massive trees. We did meet some helpful folks, halflings who offered to guide us back to the road. That seems a long time ago. We didn’t accept of course. But they at least pointed us to an elderberry grove. Kindness can be found in even the darkest places, it seems.
After a brief stop at that grove, we ran into a young woman offering shelter and care for our now injured horse. (This is why we can’t have nice things.) Her invitation seemed genuine enough and we followed her home. Well…that was a mistake. We were trapped in a strange realm that was apparently controlled by mechanisms in the center of the hall. Burning, freezing, biting, all manner of Hells unleashed. Corrin cramming himself into a fireplace…for reasons. It was all very confusing and painful and tiring and watching this group not learning the unstable zone lesson was equal parts frustrating and funny. (Sketches of the layout, decor, young woman) After what feels like forever, they bungled through. I scored some interesting books on butterflies and exotic flora. Nearly worth my life, I’m sure.
Day ????
How long were we in there, anyway? Left my pack in the wagon, apple in the pouch. It was nearly mush. Not going to bother to alert the others. Too tired to deal with that. Just ready to see the end of this place. Looking back for one last sketch reference, I saw Brother Kern….uh… po … taking a sh …hmm…defecating on the porch. Not sure what church he belongs to, but fairly sure that’s not how you bless a house. Maybe the theory of magic resonance is true and he was still cat-brained. Interesting thought.
on…and on….and on….
driving, freezing rain. sick of it. sick of the woods. cold and tired and hungry.
we find a house. a woodsman and his child. he offers us shelter and food and a fire. the adventurers are (okay, maybe, understandably) wary, but he seemed kind enough. a widower with a child can’t be harmful, right? poor girl. he said his wife was taken by the mummers plague some years ago, and obviously the girl was stricken too. nasty bit of work. seen some of it before I was fully apprenticed. red cheeks and pale skin. jerking of the limbs. eventually the body just burns itself right through, blind, deaf, mute. can’t eat, drink, move, nothing. tragic…painful way to die.
and xylund keeps asking about it. oh good. if I could lift my arm, I would facepalm.
sleep. all I want is sleep. our host wants a game though: what do we value most? I answered honestly, because why not? too tired to lie anyway. not sure about the others, but corrin refused to answer. that was rude. he’s obviously never read the tale of the traveler’s gift. oh well…
Day ? + ?
Dawn Lake…at last. Massive moon and silent waves. Apparently there’s a puzzle to solve, and by approaching it, a faun and elf appear. friendly, so bonus. insert the key. katt gave us a key. still say we need her. i need that box. don’t think I can get it from stoop-pooper though. maybe if I just think about her? but then does that invite her into my brain? I must admit I know very little about how dreameaters work. I don’t think I want to extend that invite if I don’t have to. still though…we may need her.
…or not…Davynn cracks it! Colour me shocked. the tower appears and I immediately regret all my life choices. but our guides..uh…guide us. sitting in the rear of the boat, I can hear the faint click of the elf’s knuckles as he drives. this is not what it seems. The Tower is impressive, if not soul-shatteringly frightening. Surrender my weapons? Absolutely, little faun friend.
{Shaky script continues on the water-marked page}
Room of doors. Huh. I swear something is moving above. Faun shows us to a little room, which ends up being the last thing I see before waking up in my personal nightmare. Ice. Ice everywhere. I panicked. Sacred flame. I chose…poorly.
Please…please…let us get this done soon. The Woods are going to be the end of me. (sketch of gravestone)
Don't Be Ungrateful, Gayle
{Mixed in with his other books and scrolls is a small dark leather journal. Gayle hides it inside an open copy of “Lesser Rites of Calishyn and Her Acolytes” and writes:}
Oh dear.
This is why I shouldn’t speak. First I bungle the matter with the High Priestess, and now I fear Master Xylund is cross. I admit I lost my head. But it was AMAZING! And then Master Xylund said I was part of the team, and the team was sharing stories. What story could possibly top meeting Her Grace?
They don’t seem to see it the same way, though. One can tell. They ate in Caeracht. They slept in Caeracht. And Corrin just nodded when I asked him about it. How is that not a life-altering affair?! I had to tell them everything. Well, not everything. But the highlights certainly!
I GOT TO MEET HER GRACE!!!!!! {scribbles of general excitement} And not in Court, although I would have liked to have seen the Seven Sisters for myself. (Don’t be ungrateful, Gayle!) In Her Solar, I got to sit and listen. ME. And Her Grace even spoke to me a little! She knew my family name! (In hindsight, that should not have been unexpected, but I was taken aback at the time.) And Her Grace spoke to Master Xylund like he was someone important. I knew he and his crew were interesting, but this was beyond everything! And then…Her Grace asked me to step outside. AND THEY SPOKE ALONE! Master Xylund and the Honoured Emmisary of the gods damned Grey. SPOKE. ALONE.
I have never known anyone to be alone with royalty, let alone a Nenmetal, let let alone someone like Her Grace. I have no idea what was spoken, but that doesn’t matter. Not even Ludlum has ever gotten a private audience to my knowledge. HOW IS HE NOT MORE EXCITED ABOUT THIS?!
If he was half as charming to Her Grace as the Druidess today, I can see maybe why the private audience was needed. How does he do that? She was speechless the rest of the trip, including when we went to see the Captain. That was probably for the best though, given their proven dislike of one another. For no apparent reason. I do not…will never…understand how women think. I should take more notes.
The Captain looked worse for wear when we called. We asked for a wagon, which, sadly, we did not get from her. As we were leaving though, she sent me a message…for lack of a better term. I’ll have to wait till the others are occupied before trying anything. Last thing I need is a sober Master Xylund being extra unhappy with me today.
The Field Notes of Gayle Hartney
Day 17
And here I thought I was fortunate to catch a passenger carriage heading back to Greyloch. I should have known the Wheel doesn’t always turn my way. After this wretched excursion, I was so looking forward to a peaceful journey home. Most of the crew gave me a wide berth, as I prefer. All but my coach companions…a strange but fascinating lot. Maybe I should have worn my darker robes.
I recognized High Priestess Bowyn, of course. She was hiding in a seat for reasons I never did figure out. She attended to two patients in the coach, a Druidess (Circle unidentified-I never did understand the nuances there) and a young man with a serious skin condition. (sketch included) The one in armour seemed very concerned in a quiet sort of way, and floated about like a mother hen. The halfling…could use a tailor. And a bath. But otherwise appeared capable. Capable of what is the distressing part. The last one had a slippery look about him. I saw enough of those types in Lorholt. He skulked away with his female companion shortly after.
The silver-haired one Master Xylund looks like a Hunter if I ever saw one. He started the journey atop the carriage and kept to himself. Everyone seemed on edge, though, including the Lorholt guards. There was a bit of unpleasantness and we were separated from the rest of the caravan, Master Xylund literally taking the reins. I’ve never been so frightened…except maybe that time the Maesters sent me to the third catacomb to retrieve the Annals of Ardenian, Vol 6. But this was a close second!
The Camp of the Venelis Elves was unlike anything I had ever seen before! I could spend weeks there and still have stories to record. They were certainly hospitable, and I got into a very deep conversation with one named Druanili about the history and meaning of their tattoos. Perhaps I can convince the Prophets to allow my research to be directed there instead of the gods-forsaken Cathol Ros. The food was certainly better than that in Lorholt, and there were intoxicants everywhere. Master Xylund noticed as well. I have never seen a creature take so many so quickly…and mixing them the way he did can’t be healthy. I’m actually amazed he lived through the night. Truly this crew is full of medical marvels.
The wine (and other suspect items) certainly loosened his tongue. He was indeed a soldier, but not a true Hunter. (I think he missed his calling.) He talks like one, however, tales of regret and chaos and ramblings about the meaning of it all, sprinkled with some fairly odd musings about the nature of owls. [Filed under Addendum D-2 later in this volume] He asked questions as well, about dreameaters and the Cathol Ros, bizarre subjects indeed for a layman. I answered to the best of my ability, although I am not sure how much he absorbed. He is truly an interesting individual, though, and it was the most fun I’ve had in…well….ever.
Day 18 and 19
I am sitting on a bench at the Golden Wren’s bathhouse, trying to wrap my mind around the past two days. Yesterday started fine enough. A visitor for the group. Some woman from Greyloch. Seemed pleasant enough. And off we went. But soon, the coach stopped and the fighters left us behind. Kern (the aforementioned mother hen and a very kind gentleman) stayed with us as protection. Protection from what, I am not entirely sure. But Master Xylund bade me remain, and I trust his judgement. We sat quietly and a little nervously until they returned with a man I’ve never seen before, badly injured and barely conscious. We made haste to the Inn, while I assisted High Priestess Bowyn as much as I could. When we arrived, there seemed to be some tension with the young woman from the camp. Loud discussions and the slamming of metal on the bar and she was gone. We retired for the rest of the day while the young man rested and recuperated. All in one room. Which was not entirely pleasant, but that’s adventuring life? I guess?
We woke to the heat and smell of the Hells themselves. The building burned around us and demonic lizards scaled the walls. I simply followed the group, putting absolute blind faith in this group. And I was rewarded with…a jaunt out a second story window. So much yelling and smoke and chaos, arrows flying and a monstrous hulk of a gnoll bearing down on us. Although I mostly shrank back as much as possible without singing my robe. High Priestess Bowyn took mercy on me and her companion, casting a rather impressive Guardian spell.
I must admit my eyes were closed through most of this.
When I opened them, the young man was standing and fired a bolt into his Priestess! He must have been truly damaged to believe he could do so without triggering the Guardian! I am no stranger to the dead…but watching a life snuffed out before my very eyes…that was wholly terrifying. I remember reciting the Maiden’s Song, although I am not entirely certain I did so out loud. For his sake, I hope so. And yet the battle raged on as I..well…froze. I vaguely recall healing Master Xylund, but truth be told, it was all a blur of fire and blood. The group was managing, I think, until the High Priestess herself began to react strangely. She fired on her friends! Maybe the cult of Nenemeth is as dangerous as they say…
Once subdued, she seemed harmless, and the crew did not hesitate to bring her along. Even now, she’s here in the Inn. Why are they not more frightened of her? Another perk of adventuring? Must be lovely to be so fearless. I think I’ll keep my distance until I get back to the rooming house. In the meantime, this crew is at least entertaining to write about, better than my usual artifact work. And they might actually get to see Her Grace! That would make everything almost worthwhile.
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