# Adventures Beyond the Edge



## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

Greetings!

I am currently lucky enough to be playing in a Kingdoms of Kalamar campaign with my friends, and I have been selected as DM.  An idea that I adopted from the last DM, one of our current players, is to grant an XP reward to any players who write a journal for each session.  This helps everyone build a back story and also provides a framework for our inter-party dynamics.  The journals are not restricted in what they can be, and I allow them to be retelling of events that occur at the table or even "off camera" action that the players take during any down time.  They have a tendency to be pretty interesting, but you also tend to see the exact same sequence of events from several perspectives, sometimes due to role playing dynamics, but sometimes just because someone misunderstood what happened or what was said.  (Especially watch the names; you will see some names spelled up to six different ways.)

After prompting from the various players in our group, I have agreed to attempt to organize the posts and post them on the forums.  These journals were originally posted on the Kenzer & Company Forums in the Kingdoms of Kalamar story hour forum, but since then, I have worked with my players to improve the order of the posts, and am reposting them here also.  Most of the players in our group frequent these boards, so feel free to leave comments.  I'm sure they are looking forward to feedback. 

I will follow up with a quick overview of the different characters and some basic back story, and then I will get down to posting the journals.

Enjoy!


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - the Characters*

Our group is currently made up of six players and me.  We play a somewhat bizarre blend of 3rd Edition D&D with a healthy mix of house rules heavily influenced by the Grim and Gritty hit point system.  This was started by the previous DM, who introduced me to the group.

And without further delay, the group:

*Tyron Stron* - A minor Brandobian noble from Mendarn played by our former DM and good friend of mine.  Tyran Stron is a surgeon but he is driven by rage, hate and pain.  He is the oldest character in the group by at least a decade, and has become the group leader somewhat by default through age and intimidation.  He is a variation on the cleric class that we created for this campaign.

*Ithian Galborn* - A minor Kalamaran noble from Pekal who is a cleric of the Fate Scribe and a swashbuckler.  His red hair and obvious Kalamaran features make him easy to recognize and difficult to miss.  He has a tendency to stand out in a crowd, but always has his rapier and main gauche ready to defend himself and those around him.

*Mikayla Smithson* - Born of a marriage between a Kalamaran noble woman and a soldier of common stock, she was raised outside of her family and outside of the noble houses but educated as a noble amongst the local villagers.  Her mother, a Paladin of Deb'fo, ensured her training included martial instruction.

*Azoi Nareesh* - A Brandobian nobleman from Cosdol who studied the arcane arts, he specializes in summoning and conjuration.  He is the "black-sheep" of the family as they are primarily known for their powers of illusion.  He never could understand why someone would want to fake summoning something when they could just conjure up the real thing.

*Marigold* - A Halfling from Kalamar who is a rogue and sorcereress.  Her strongest desire is to save up enough money to purchase a small farm back in Kalamar and retire.

*Jaresh* - A Dejy monk who has spent many seasons studying the ways of his teachers, but now has been turned out to the world to find his path.

*Jorak* - A Kalamaran Gnome (NPC) who seems to have been caught up in something bigger than himself.

So far these are the original characters, they may survive or they may change.

Everyone started out as a first level character and I made a tactical error in not confining the possible backgrounds or histories of the different characters, so I ended up with characters from the far reaches of Tellene.  In the end I was able to work out a passable plot hook with help from the boards and the players.

Well I hope you enjoy our collected efforts!


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Jaresh's Journal*

*Jaresh's Journal - Entry One*

My story begins, as most such stories do, when I was a child. However, it would be impolite of me to begin such a tale without an introduction; I am named Jareshi; but I am more commonly called "Coqui", which is also the name of small singing tree frog. 

I was raised by my mother, in a small farming village in a mountainous area near Yelden. All she would ever say of my father was that he was a soldier. I never met him. We lived, as was the custom of the poorer folk, in a small sod hut, sharing it, in fact, with a family of tenant farmers who worked a plot of land nearby. This was my family. The farmer Kennek, was a kind man, strong, patient, and simple, as was his wife Larna. They had two boys, both older than myself, and larger - and perhaps not as kind and patient as their parents, though that changed as they grew older. My mother was a weaver, and by plying her trade, and helping out on the farm when needed, we were able to keep clothes on our backs and food on our table. 

For my part, I was never fond of farming. Fortunately, I found a way to contribute that largely kept me out of the fields. My salvation was the oil nut trees, a type of oak tree which grew in the scrub canyons north of town. As you've probably guessed from the name, oil nut trees produce a type of acorn which can be pressed to release a nearly colorless, woody-smelling oil, with many and varied uses, including cooking, lamp fuel, and the treatment of leathers and wood. I was a gatherer of oil nuts, and the demands of my profession included frequent climbing and jumping, a fine sense of balance, and the occasional tumble from an unstable perch. 

Despite the fact that noone short of the local lord himself actually had any legal claim of ownership to the oil nut trees, the easier ones to get to were all staked out as the territory of people much larger and stronger than myself. As a result, my efforts primarily focused on the hard-to-reach trees growing on the canyon walls. On a few occasions, I was caught off guard by other nut gatherers, and my take for the day was 'confiscated'. Therefore, I felt perfectly justified when, happening upon an unharvested tree that was considered the territory of one of my predatory co-gatherers, I would carefully and watchfully lighten its harvest. I learned to keep an eye out for other oil nut gatherers, and to hide or flee silently upon their approach. In this way, I was able to contribute to our communal effort. 

As I was neither particularly strong, particularly smart, nor particularly comely as a child, the other village children had much sport at my expense, particularly with regard to my my family situation. After the repeated failure of various social overtures, I learned to look inside myself for fulfillment. I soon noticed that the other village childern, and many of the adults, lacked any real appreciation or consideration of the likely outcomes and possible consequences of their actions. I was, on a few occasions, able to use this insight, as well as my natural agility and the skills I had developed as a hunter of oil nuts, to exact a small measure of revenge for prior incidences of rough treatment. 

The village itself was about as uninteresting as a small farming town can possibly be. The only possible exception to this was the local temple, which was built in one end of the remains of what must have once been a much larger and grander temple. Only a few moss covered statues, and a beautiful fountain that splashed cool water, remained within the high buttressed walls. Stone gargoyles, themselves festooned with sheets of moss, leered down from the broken heights. What had once been the interior was now open to the sky, and home to a number of mature oak trees, none of which managed to reach the heights of the remaining walls. The overall effect was striking, and I went there as often as I could. The walls provided numerous challenges to the climbing skills that I was developing, and when no one was about, I would test myself against them. In any case, the people of the village used the area as a communal gathering area, or park.

It was to this area that the Laughing Ghost came. Rumors had it that a few of the village childern, playing near the temple, unearthed a small, but surprisingly heavy iron bound cask, which made faint giggling sounds when touched. Apparently, curiosity overcame them, and they smashed it open with a rock. The accounts of what happened next varied widely among the witnesses, with the common thread being that a shreiking presense surged out of the cracked container, and fled into the air. The terrified children also fled to their respective homes and, claiming illness, refused to come out again for several days. 

People began to hear strange, faint giggling and laughing in the park. In the beginning, this only happened after dark, and only to solitary visitors. But as time passed, the noises became louder, and more people heard them, and not only at dusk or after dark. Where first only solitary visitors had heard, now groups did as well, and eventually the sounds began to include taunting and jeering directed at specific listeners. People began to avoid the park, particularly after dark, but the voice continued to grow in strength. 

It was a windy and frosty All-Hallows Eve, with no moon at all, when the maniacal laughter was heard the first time; loud and frantic and desperate, lilting above the moaning of the wind. It did not sound humorous at all. At first, constant laughter was all there was, but the weather stayed cold, and the wind continued to blow, and soon all the milk in the village began to sour quickly, and the farm animals were unable to sleep at night. When the next year's seed stores went bad, people began to worry, and blame the Ghost, but it wasn't until livestock began disappearing that anyone thought to try to actually do anything. 

One morning, the men of the village gathered, long bows and wood axes in hand, to hunt their tormenter and defend their livelihood. The Ghost jeered and taunted them from the tops of the ruined walls. It had acquired physical form, but seemed barely bound by the constraints of gravity, leaping effortlessly from wall to wall and shadow to shadow. One of the men went around to the back of the old temple, to try and get a clean shot; they found him later, brained by a brick from the top of one of the walls. 

For their safety, the townsfolk began to shun the park, but the Ghost simply took to leaping from roof to roof, house to house, terrorizing anyone caught out alone. At close proximity, its laughter could seemingly freeze the blood, or cause mad panic and wild flight. It fed on our fear, and continued to grow in power. 

We sent an emisary to the local lord, but when he returned, he reported that the lord had simply laughed and said that we'd have to solve this problem on our own - he had his own affairs to attend to, and couldn't spare anyone to deal with a "mad gleeman". He did suggest that the villagers might want to seek help from a small local monestary, though no one in the village was aware that there was one nearby. 

The next day, while the villagers were arguing about what to do, a small, strange looking man walked into the village. He appeared genial, speaking haltingly and with an odd accent. He told them that he was searching for his brother, who he believed had some time ago established a small school in this general area. Noone in the village knew of any school, but perhaps, if he had a minute, he could assist them with a troublesome creature that had taken up residence in their community? Surprisingly, to my mind, he agreed, saying that he would see if there was anything that he could do. The townsfolk, though somewhat dubious, were in no position to turn away help, so they showed him to the ruined temple. 

There began what was clearly the single most astounding event of my young life. When the stranger arrived at the temple, the Ghost began screaming and pelting him with stones from the top of the walls. My fellow villagers, and indeed I myself, fully expected this small man to cast some wonderous magic spell, instantly ridding us of our tormentor. But that is not what happened. Instead, the man carefully lowered his small knapsack to the ground, picked up his walking stick, and ran straight up the nearest wall, to a ledge that I had climbed to on occasion, some 40 feeet up from the ground. For the first time since its appearance, the Ghost was, briefly, silent. The cacophany that erupted from it thereafter sent many of the villagers fleeing to their homes, and the remainder, myself included, took cover where ever we could.

The traveller paused only a moment on the ledge, and then ran through a glassless window, along the arch of a buttress, and up a higher buttress, to reach one of the highest ledges on the walls, a frequent haunt of the Laughing Ghost. The Ghost itself jibbered and howled from the other side of the temple, throwing what rocks it could find or pull loose at this trespasser in its territory. The small man ran along the ledge before seemingly effortlessly leaping some thirty feet or more to a section of the opposite wall, landing on top of it and challenging the Ghost. It screamed and fled along the wall, but the visitor followed, and when it hesitated before leaping to a new section of wall, he struck it with his staff. It wheeled, and, brandishing fangs that none of us had noticed before, sprung upon the visitor. Somehow, though they both stood atop the ruined wall, he evaded it and struck again with his staff, and then the creature turned and fled in earnest, pursued at every step by the small man with the staff. It all ended quite suddenly, after a dizzying series of twists and leaps and sprints along spans of stone no wider than the palm of my hand; the staff connected one last time with a thunderous Bang! In a small puff of oily smoke, the creature was no more. 

I was awestruck.

The visitor carefully decended from the heights, stepping lightly, yet still picking his way with all the dignity and grace of a lord decending the front stairs of his keep. The townsfolk were speachless, until one ventured to ask " is it gone?". He smiled, nodded once affirmatively, and reached down to the ground to retrieve his pack.

The possibilities of what I had just seen were astounding. Beyond the fact the the Ghost, which had proven to be immune to any weapons that we villagers could bring to bare, could be dispatched with a simple walking stick, was the idea that such effortless movement could even be possible. That odd little man had run right up the wall! And it seemed so simple... all one had to do was to leap, and upon contact with the wall, to transfer their weight just so - thereby transforming horizontal momentum into vertical movement! And if the balance remained right, another step could conceivably be taken, thrusting upwards, and another! 

While the townsfolk looked about for signs of the Laughing Ghost, I moved to a quiet area, one of my favorite climbing spots, to try my theory. After a short running start, I leapt upon the wall, intending to run upwards as I had just seen the stranger do. Of course, that's not what happened. As I picked myself up, it seemed that if I waited a bit longer to jump and pushed more up than forward, perhaps it would work. I took a few steps back, wiped the blood from my nose, and tried again. This time I actually took one step up the wall, though my elation was short-lived as I fell to the floor from nearly eight feet up, knocking the wind out of myself. 

As I lay, gasping for breath, I heard a voice say "look at Coqui, trying to run on the walls like the stranger!", and laughter rang out. Now, mixed with the happy laughter of relief came the colder sound of ridicule: "Coqui's going to do it too!" "Save us from the Ghost, Coqui." "Run up the wall little frog." "Oops, you can't do it!" It continued from there. The other children had seen me. I tried to tune them out, but they kept teasing, and though I kept trying at the wall, I felt my confidence began to slip away. Maybe they were right, after all; nobody had ever seen anyone do such a thing before. Even some of the adults, who did not typically join in the teasing, were starting to taunt me, and the mood was turning uglier by the minute. I knew I had to escape. 

A small curtain wall nearby was pierced by a tall, narrow window. I did not feel up to confronting the crowd just now, so I seized on that window as my escape route. I leapt through, tucked into a roll when I hit the ground, and then bounced up and jumped around a corner, out of sight of the villagers inside. Standing there, as if waiting for me, was the traveller. I was frozen in surprise. He regarded me for a moment from under partially closed eyelids, and as I gathered breath to defend myself, he said "You see possibility... where others see only the impossible... that is perhaps... the most important part". His voice was strangely gravelly and airy at the same time.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. 

After a brief wait, he continued, "Do you know... why the people reacted... the way they did"?

I was finally able to focus, and after a moment's thought I said "yes, they were terrified of the ghost, and very relieved to be free of it, yet at the same time, they were frustrated at their own impotence in not being able to deal with it. Their frustrations were simply transferred onto the nearest target, which happened to be me, I guess". 

"Your insight... speaks well of you" he said. 

My heart sank, however, when he asked "did you really believe... that you could run up... the wall?" Was I to now face ridicule from a stranger? There was nothing left but the truth.

"It seemed possible. You made it look easy".

"Such things... can only be mastered after much training... and you have not had that training..." His voice was harder now.

"Of course not." 

"Then there is no shame... in your attempt... too often those who believe that they already know the outcome... do not even make a first attempt... and in not doing so... fail without even trying" he replied.

I felt like I was having some difficulty following the conversation; approval, admonition, approval, which way was this going? " I... I should be going, the people inside are likely to come looking for me soon, and I'd prefer not to be here when they do." 

"As you will", he replied, placing his hands together, palm to palm in front of his chest, and inclining his head slightly towards me. He stepped back, and I turned and ran.

All the way home. And locked the door behind me.

It was the next season, nearly a year later, when, according to my mother, a barefoot young men dressed in coarse-woven brown tunic and trousers appeared at the hut. In much more cultured Brandobian than we were accustomed to hearing, he accurately described me, and inquired as to where I could be found. When she appeared unsure, he merely smiled, and presented her with a wooden tube, capped at one end with a larger knob of a different kind of wood; asking that she give it to me upon my return.

I was gathering nuts at the time, so Mother could truthfully say that she did not know exactly where I was. Later that afternoon I saw that same man walking quickly up a narrow, infrequently used trail leading further up one of the canyons. As I watched him, from a concealed position in one of the trees, I thought about several occasions over the last year when I had felt that someone was watching me, seen flashes of movement in the corner of my eye, heard unusual, but faint, sounds - oddly these had all happened in this canyon, too. I briefly considered following him, to see where he was going, but decided against it as it was getting late and I was hungry.

The tube contained a scroll, which apparently was an invitation to study, though the message was comprised primarily of foreign symbols which I had no idea how to enunciate. Also included was a map, which was a simple affair showing both the village and the school. Mother looked at the invitation, deciphered what she could, and smiled sadly. She cupped my chin in her hand, and looked into my eyes, her brown to my gray, and said "you will go to this school". "You will work very hard, and you will master all that they teach. In this way, you will grow beyond what this poor village offers, and you will find your place in the world. But you must always remember the lessons of the old ways, for their wisdom has been tested and found true."

"Be true to yourself."
"Hold only what you can use, and use what you hold."
"Do not seek power for power's sake, for it binds stronger than any chain."
"Find your place, and then take your place."
"True friends share a life; the loss of a friend lessens you as well."

I left the next morning. Walking down the trail, with the chill of dawn on my skin, I wondered what this road would bring.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Jaresh's Journal*

*Jaresh's Journal - Entry Two*

For six years I had lived and studied at the academy. Learning the ways of balance and discipline, through drill and practice and reflection. My experience defied easy description, being both too simple and too profound for mere words to contain. 

And now I face the next step in my journey. 

As an acolyte, I had begun my studies with no idea of the purpose or pattern of the tasks that I was asked to perform. It was primarily physical labor, performed in specific and demanding patterns, and repeated to near infinity, and if my attention wandered, there was always a senior brother available to provide "encouragement". I later realized that these tasks served to toughen my body, and condition the reflexive movements that I would later use as building blocks for more complex techniques. As I began to develop some mastery of these movements, as determined by periodic testing, I was given other tasks to complete, and later, philosophical ideas to explore. This was the cycle, repeated many times, with each iteration using the building blocks provided by the previous cycles to construct new capabilities to be developed and tested. Like the forging of a blade, I was heated and folded and heated and folded, over and over and over again, until, like a blade, I was flexible and sharp, and ready for whatever the world would bring.

Periodically, individuals or small groups from other schools, some very distant, would visit. These occasions were always cause for celebration, for they briefly broke the routine, providing exciting diversions by way of tournaments. All above the rank of acolyte were expected to attend, and the discussions of techinques and strategies could last for days afterward. As with so many other things, a pattern soon became apparent; with tournaments falling roughly on the solstice days. The fall tournament was, in my estimation, the most interesting, both for its large turnout, and because it coincided with the annual arrival of a most interesting visitor. 

He was a trader of sorts, pulling a small wagon full of very odd and interesting items. The trader himself was old and gnarled, and looked like nothing more than a man-shaped mass of twisted roots, covered with strange tattoos and given clothing. As to his origins and background, rumors abounded, with the most popular being that he had once been a master at a school not unlike our own, before taking to the road. He did not speak, at least not to the likes of us; but if someone managed to impress him with their performance at one ot the tournaments, he would, after mixing various mysterious ingredients from the contents of his cart, create tattoos of stunning beauty and complexity upon them. All of those who so benefited swore that some portion of their own art had improved as a result, either a strength had been further enhanced, or a weakness addressed. The first that I actually saw was a design of interlocking bears, copied on both of the recipient's biceps - his physical strength increased markedly thereafter. Another that particularly impressed me was a stylized oak tree, slightly larger than I could cover with my hand; in this case, the tattooee's (?) skin became noticeably resistant to damage. Oh how I yearned to win one of those for myself. However, as fate would have it, my best performances did not occur at the fall tournaments, and I remained unadorned by the mysterious stranger's work.

It was this very subject that was on my mind as I went about my assigned tasks one morning. The fall tournament was coming up, and I had nearly convinced myself that, should I successfully execute a flying spinning heel strike, and should that prove to be the decisive blow whereby I won the match, perhaps that would be sufficiently impressive... I was fairly certain that I could manuver one of the less experienced acolytes into position for such a display... But my reverie was interrupted - by a summons to the Council Chamber. This was a serious matter; I could count the times that I had been summoned to that chamber on the fingers of one hand. How bittersweet then, to be told that my studies had reached a level where, in order to continue to grow, I must venture out into the world and seek my fortune. To be frank, I did not want to go, but the Masters were adamant, and would not be dissuaded.

I packed my meagre possessions, and the next morning set out down a trail that, I had been assured, led to a road, which led to a city. Having never been to a city, and further, having no idea what my proper position within such an organization was, I viewed the prospect with some trepidation. However, that was where I had been told to go, so that was where I would go. 

What an astounding surprise it was, then, to be set upon by hobgoblins within an hour of reaching the road. I was able to incapacitate one, but while I did so, the other moved behind me, and I woke up in chains, last in a long line of wretches being marched down the road. 

Thus did I make it to the city - not in the fashion I had originally evvisioned. There was, however, little question what my status was to be - and it could not be lower. My fellows and I were hustled onto a huge boat and taken to another city, where I was moved into a different group, marched en-masse onto a platform, incoherently shouted at for a few minutes, and marched off to another boat - ship, I'd heard them called. We were chained in the belly of this ship, with some other slaves; destination unknown.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Mikayla's Journal*

*Mikayla’s Journal - Prequel Entry*

I have been sold into slavery, but the ship chartered by my unknown master was attacked by pirates. Escaping the ship as it was sinking, I managed to persuade the passengers in one of the lifeboats to take me in. And so I am free once more, along an unknown shore. Among the wreckage that washed ashore with us I found a crate that contained blank ledgers, quills and ink, all carefully sealed in oilskin packets, protected from the ravages of the sea.

Remembering the many pleasurable hours I spent as a child reading my mother’s journals of her adventures, I have decided to chronicle my own journeys. Perhaps one day my mother may read these pages, or perhaps I may one day have a daughter or son who will enjoy them, reading them over and over again while I am away, as I read my mother’s while she and my father were off on their journeys.

When I was a child, I often daydreamed, anticipating the time when I would be old enough to set off and see the world, fighting evil and discovering ancient treasures, just like my parents. Little could I imagine the circumstances that would force me from my home, or the paths down which my life would lead me.

When I was young I wanted above all else to be like my parents, earning my mother’s respect was always a goal of mine. Lady Morgan, Paladin of the Knight of the Gods, was the daughter of a Duke of the Realm. Beautiful, wise and determined, she demanded a lot from me, expecting me to make full use of the tutors she hired to teach me. I studied History, Geography, Mathematics, Religion and Languages, but it was the Arts of War where I applied myself most willingly. 

I practiced faithfully every day with my sword, and not even the broken arm I got climbing the old oak tree in the village green stopped me; I merely switched from right hand to left, practicing all the harder to overcome the weakness and clumsiness of my left hand and arm. My dedication impressed my arms master enough that he decided, once the break had fully healed and I had once more regained my strength and agility in my right arm, to teach me the two-blade style of fighting, wielding a second sword in the place of a shield, with which to not only block my opponent’s sword thrusts, but to also attack .

I loved my mother, but was also just a little in awe of her. My father I simply loved with all my heart. He was a tall, hearty man with a big, booming laugh, in every way the seeming opposite of his wife. Dark where she was fair, easy-going where she was intense, he was the perfect counterbalance to my mother. The son of the village smith, William was more at home in the wilderness than in the smithy, and as a young boy learned to track anything that moved on two feet or four, silently ghosting through the woods, and what he aimed at with his bow, he always hit with his arrows. When he was old enough, he joined the Duke’s men as a scout, rising quickly through the ranks.


And that is how my parents met, on a campaign against an incursion of raiders. They fell in love, and were soon married. The Duke, when he found out, disinherited my mother and discharged my father, but that did not matter to them. They had each other, and that was enough for them.

But Lady Morgan was never meant to be just a wife and mother. Eventually the day came when her God called upon her. Entrusting their infant daughter to the care of William’s brother and his wife, the two set out into the world once more.

To say my childhood was unique was putting it mildly. It was a happy time, filled with strange dichotomies. On the one hand, I lived in a small one-room cottage behind the smithy, sleeping in a loft with my cousins Eliza and Thomas, playing with all the village children. On the other hand, I had schooling that went well beyond what any of the other children needed, or wanted. 

Many of the villagers took advantage of my teachers, paying in goods and services for their children to get some learning. So in the early years, many of my playmates were also my schoolmates. But later, as the learning became more advanced, fewer and fewer of the children kept me company at my lessons, especially the ones in heraldry, protocol and etiquette. Disowned she might be, but Lady Morgan was determined her daughter would be taught everything the granddaughter of a Duke should know. 

My tutors soon learned the best ways to motivate me when I rebelled against learning what I saw as useless information. I lived for my weapons work, and so was denied it if I had not learned my other lessons to my teachers’ satisfaction, and my weaponsmaster was the hardest taskmaster of all, often telling me sternly that knowledge was a weapon in and of itself. Knowing your enemy, he would say, is half the battle won. Often, when I would question the use of advanced mathematics, the sciences, or even etiquette, it was he who showed me how even such seemingly inconsequential information as the local trading commodities could be turned to my advantage, influencing what he called Strategy and Tactics.

And that is how my childhood ran for my first twelve years, my teachers as much a parent to me as my Uncle and Aunt, with my real parents appearing without warning to spend an intense few weeks or months before going off again once more. 

It was a fine spring day, the first day in a week where the rising sun was not hidden in early morning mist or rain. It was the Spring Equinox, and this evening the unmarried girls of the village would dance the Maypole. Eliza wished to search for bridal blessing, a small, fragrant pink flower, to weave into her hair. Legend has it that to dance the Maypole with a veil of bridal blessing was to ensure the meeting of one’s own true love before Year’s End, and Eliza was of an age to marry. Eliza, slender and fair with a gentle smile and a kind heart, was in no need of a veil to attract the attention of the village lads, but wanted the good omens brought by the veil. And so off we went, Eliza to gather and weave her veil, I to practice with my bow.


It was a perfect day, spent chasing butterflies and wayward arrows, gathering flowers and the first of the sweet tiny redberries. We picnicked in a glade by the rill, while Eliza taught me how to weave the flowers. Finally we set off for home, as the sun slowly made its way toward the horizon. As we came out of a copse of trees, just one rise away from the village, we came face to face with a party of four young men on horseback. They hailed us laughingly, smiling down at Eliza and claiming to be lost. Even if I had not recognized their devices I still would have known them for nobles; their expensive leathers and velvets would have fed the entire village for a year. 

They swung off their mounts, each one of which was probably worth the income of a year’s labor from our village, and walked next to Eliza, laughing and teasing, and offering her a ride home. Me they ignored, taking me for a lad, I think, with my hair cropped short as it was. (I had tired of fighting with the long fine mass that winter, and taken a knife to the plait.) Eliza spoke to them politely, but I could tell they made her nervous and uncomfortable. And even now, six years later, I find it hard to write what happened next.

One of the young, so-called “gentlemen” swung back up on his horse. Another swooped Eliza up off the ground and tossed her up to the one in the saddle, as the others also mounted up. Screaming and kicking, Eliza tried to get free, pleading with her captures to let her go, but her cries fell upon deaf ears. I drew my bow and notched and arrow, aiming carefully to not hit Eliza, but before I could let fly, the last of the youths, having just climbed into the saddle, swung his sword at me. I ducked, but the blade caught me alongside my head, knocking me to the ground. For a moment everything was black, though still I heard Eliza’s cries as if from a great distance. I tried to rise but, sick and dizzy, was unable to do more than huddle to the ground retching in pain. There I lay as the sun slowly set, listening to Eliza’s cries of terror and pain. Finally the only sound to be heard was the laughter of the men, then the fading hoofbeats of the departing horses. 

It was full dark when Uncle John came upon us, using the miller’s hounds to find our trail. I was several weeks recovering from the sword blow to my head, and when I finally was able to get up and speak, it was to find that Eliza was greatly changed by her ordeal. She refused to speak, refused to even look at anyone, cringing away from all who came near, even her mother. She would, at best, sit in a chair by the fire, arms wrapped around herself, rocking. She never said another word again.

Everyone could guess what had happened, of course, but until I was able to give witness, nothing could be done. Well, I might not have known their names, but I knew their families, thanks to my mother’s insistence that I be fully educated, so as soon as I was well enough, my Uncle and the Mayor of the village took me to the Magistrate. And that is when I learned how cruel and unfair life can be. The magistrate listened gravely to all I had to say, questioning me closely about how I knew the identities of the men who I had seen attack my cousin and myself. He told the Mayor and my uncle that he would speak to the boys’ fathers. Much to my surprise, the Mayor and my uncle nodded, and we left. 


Two weeks later, one of the Magistrate’s grooms came to the smithy and handed my uncle a small bag, which contained forty gold coins. This, we were told, was the fine that had been imposed upon the young men for their actions, and that was the end of the matter. There was to be no trial, no punishment. No one in the village seemed surprised at the outcome, except for the fact that so much money had been forthcoming. It was eventually generally agreed that the Magistrate had imposed the large fine because of the tenuous connection between my uncle and the Duke.

Angry and confused, I sought for an answer as to why these men had been allowed to get away with committing such a heinous crime. My uncle simply told me to leave it be, the Mayor told me it was the way of the world. It was my swordmaster who finally explained it to me fully. It was he who explained that there was one set of laws for the people, another for the aristocrats. Had the boys done what they did to one of their own class, which they of course would never have even thought to do, then they would have been punished. But Eliza was a commoner, a peasant whose family had no wealth or influence of noble birthright, and therefore the young nobles would not be punished by the law for their deeds.

I was shocked to the core of my being. This went against everything I had ever been taught, by my teachers or my mother, about the codes of honor, chivalry and nobility. When I mentioned this to my swordmaster, he shook his head and told me that unfortunately, many nobles seemed to view honor and chivalry as something due only to other nobles. Unsatisfied, I fretted while waiting for my parents to return, certain that they would make everything right.

As time passed, it became obvious that Eliza was with child. Though all of us were as gentle as we knew how to be with her, she never got better. It was as if, unable to bear the brutality of what had been done to her, her gentle soul had fled, leaving behind only the husk of her body. Summer passed into fall, which passed into winter and one morning I woke to see snow drifting gently down from the sky. Eliza’s bed was empty, her clothing gone, and I felt a stirring of hope, for always since that day she had to be woken up and dressed, just like a babe.

Excitedly I scrambled into my own clothes and scampered down the ladder, calling out for Eliza. Both Uncle John and Aunt Elizabeth were surprised to hear Eliza had gotten herself up and dressed this morning, and both were obviously worried, hurrying out into the snow, calling Eliza’s name. A bit frightened, I hurried to the smithy to fetch Thomas, as it was his job to build up the forge fires in the morning.

I shall never forget that morning. The soft, diffused quality of the morning light, the hush as the snow pattered down, the sharp chill of the breezy little wind that set the flakes swirling in the air, the creak of the rope, as Eliza’s body swayed in the breeze, her hair and clothing patterned with a light dusting of snow. I remember wondering dimly who was making that pitiful, thin keening, as Thomas came running out of the forge, and my aunt and uncle came hurrying from behind me. It was only when my aunt began to make that exact same sound, as my uncle, tears streaming down his face, caught her up in his arms that I realized the screaming was coming from my own mouth. 


Eliza’s death was like a bad omen, foreshadowing tragic times to come. My parents made a short visit that winter, both obviously deeply troubled about some sort of evil they had uncovered. They didn’t speak much of it, but my mother spent a great deal of her time with me, telling me all the hopes and dreams she had for me. My father said little, but hugged me often. When they left, it was with a reluctance that was obvious, and a sadness that was different from all our other partings. It was as if they were afraid they would never see me again, and indeed I have had no word of them since.

In my sixteenth year, spring came late, the summer was short and wet, fall heralded by a sharp freeze that killed most of the crops before they could be gathered in. A plague, called the Red Fever, swept the land, made barren by one of the coldest, cruelest winters ever known. Everyone was feeling the pinch of hunger, and all shared what meager little we had, supplemented by hunting, and even a little poaching in the Duke’s forests.

The was no gold, and little silver to be had, yet still the tax collectors came, handing out notices of eviction to those who could not pay, and threatening those who protested with prison. Troubled at the injustice of what was happening, I went to the Duke, to seek an audience to plead for my village. I was certain that he simply did not know the true state of affairs, and that when he understood how bad things really were, he would aid those who had served him so long and faithfully, helping them through the winter and aiding in the spring planting so that they could recover and once more provide the Duke with the fruits of their labor. 

What a fool I was. The Duke cared not for the people who lived and worked his land, who year after year provided him with the lion’s share of their labors. He cared only that he was getting next to nothing from his lands this year, and that he blamed the people for what nature had wrought. I looked at these nobles, with their soft hands and chubby cheeks, their sumptuous clothing and rich jewels, carelessly tossing bones laden with meat to the dogs lounging beneath the tables. I listened to the Duke speak of the inherent laziness of the commonfolk, and how their carelessness and lack of foresight and planning had brought their fate upon themselves, and I lost my temper. 

I spoke with even greater eloquence than before, accusing them of being parasites, leeches draining the common folk who toiled daily from sunup to sundown so that the lot of them could laze about swilling wine and stuffing their faces like geese being fattened for Winter Solstice. My birth may have saved my tongue and my life, but it did not save me from a flogging and a threeday in the stocks. 

Less than a fortnight after returning home, a stranger came to stay overnight at the village inn. He sought me out and told me he had been in the audience chamber when I had tried to speak on behalf of the people of my village. He had been impressed by both my speech and my tirade, and asked me if I had meant what I had said about nobles. Bitterly, I told him about the injustice done to my cousin, and the things being done against the good people of the village and told him that yes, I meant every word, and more. He invited me to meet with others who held the same views, and were quietly doing what they could to change things. 


And so I joined the Blackfoot Society, and began my life as an outlaw. The Society’s goals were simple enough; they worked to undo the ravages that the nobility did to the commonfolk, striving to take away the power of the nobles and place it into the hands of the people who worked hard to make an honest living. I worked with them for a little over a year, making contacts, doing what I could to further their goals. And one day, while pursuing an errand in a nearby city, I chanced to spy one of my cousin’s attackers, one of the men responsible for Eliza’s death. I followed him to a brothel, where he met with another of those young swine.

Over the next few weeks, while I conducted the business of the Society that had brought me to the city, I spent all my spare time watching the young reprobate. The company he kept consisted of several young nobles, and servant gossip whispered of many deplorable habits. I watched and waited, learning the habits of all four of those men who had raped and murdered my cousin. Finally, I turned to my friends in the Blackfoot Society, asking for help in administering a long overdue justice.

One night, as the four of them came reeling out of a brothel, much the worse for drink, we surrounded them and took them captive. We hustled them into a closed carriage and made our way to an abandoned, rundown warehouse near the old docks, where we bound and gagged them, and waited for them to sober up. We tried them for their crimes, and in their arrogance they did not deny their deeds, scoffing about so much fuss being made over a mere peasant wench who had been no better than she should be. Even when confronted with the knowledge that they had driven her to her death, they still refused to feel remorse, not a one of them sorry that they had caused a beautiful, gentle girl to go mad and kill herself. My aunt and uncle had been well recompensed, they argued.

It was I who chose their fate, as Eliza had been my cousin. I am sure they expected to be killed, and showed some measure of bravery when facing their fate, but it was not in my mind to be so kind. A swift death was more mercy than they had shown Eliza, and I was determined that they should live their lives in sorrow, ruing forever their deeds of that day. It was I who spoke their sentence, and I who wielded the knife that delivered Eliza’s vengeance. Although I was vilely ill afterwards, I castrated them, made sure that they would not bleed to death from their wounds, and had them returned to their homes, each with 10 gold pieces in a bag tied to their wrists. My cousin’s life had been dear to my aunt and uncle, to my cousin, to the miller’s son, Arvid, to me. Mere gold would not bring her back, mere gold would not replace her, or fill the emptiness left by our loss. Mere gold would not stay the hand of justice.

But gold has the power to do many things; some good, many bad. I do not know how much gold it took to buy a traitor, but buy one it did. One night, as our group rode to bring relief to a little hamlet hit hard by spring floods, we were ambushed by a contingent of the Duke’s soldiers. We fought hard, but those of us not killed in the skirmish were captured and marched towards the Duke’s main estate. We all knew it was the gallows for us, and I was certain that my identity would not spare me this time. In this I was wrong.


We were several days on the road, each night staying in a village, where we spent the night tied up in a tavern cellar. All but one night, where bad weather and downed trees on the forest road hindered our day’s travel, and we were forced to make camp. It was in the quiet hours just before dawn that the Captain woke me. He had long served in the army with my father, and for my father’s sake he would let me go free if only I swore to leave the district, never to step foot again on the Duke’s lands. At first I refused, determined to share the fate of my comrades, but it was at their urging that I finally agreed to escape. They bade me go, find the identity of the one who had betrayed us to the Duke’s men, and avenge their deaths. With a heavy heart, I finally agreed, and left, making my way north, seeking out another band of the Blackfoot Society.

I was with this new group only a matter of days before we came across a couple of men who claimed to be fleeing from a betrayal within their own group. I was eager to speak with them, hoping to discover that their traitor was one and the same as my former group. Alas, to my sorrow I found that these two men were the traitors, bought with gold to kidnap me and sell me into slavery. It seemed that the families of the men upon whom I extracted justice wanted revenge of their own. They wished for me, too, to spend a life in suffering. And suffer I did.

The slavers beat me, raped me, stripped me of everything I owned and treated me worse than an animal, but I refused to let them break me, praying to the Knight of the Gods for the strength to endure, which I was granted. Eventually I was put on a ship, bound for where, I did not know. Finally I was sold on the block, in the company of a young halfling, taken and chained in the hold of another ship, with yet another unknown destination before me. But the Fates decreed that I was not to remain in bondage. Our ship was attacked by pirates, and, as I mentioned at the beginning of this tale, I managed to escape with my life and my freedom.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Tyran's Journal*

*Tyran Stron’s ramblings and Origins*

Blood. Red hot and steaming, coving my hands, wrists, and arms almost up to the shoulder like a set of gloves and bracers that had been left out in the sun to dry. Running down my face, my cheeks, my chin, my mouth, the taste salty and like steel. Sword and scalpel.

Its funny. I remember my youth, but I do not remember being young. The events of my youth are like stories that I have read in a book. Stories of events that happened to someone else. It is as if my life, MY life, the one I have experienced began on that sunny day, on the battlefield. With my baptism in blood.

How did I get there? I remember, as if it were a dream, the youthful excitement I felt now just a whisper. I was old enough to accompany my father to war. My father, Pathor Stron, was my hero. He was a learned man, educated in the finest intuitions and a member of “The Society” (the Brandobian Society of Science and Natural Law). He had been the physician to some of the most powerful men in the three kingdoms. How did he end up lying at my feet? His blood embracing me?

But I get ahead of myself. We set out from our country estate (neither grand nor humble by the standards of my father’s peers), on Midsummer day. My mother waved a limpid fair-thee-well from the gates. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

We were late and rushing because of me. But father still took the time to check my supplies. I had not packed the proper unguents in my healer’s kit.

“Hogwart and Mossworm?” my father thundered looking through my kit, “Are we to assist some farmer’s fat wife to spit another dirt grubber out? We are on our way to WAR boy.” He said while cuffing me across the back of my head.

The word WAR sounded romantic and scary and like the adventure I had been waiting my whole life for. This was my chance to show him. But he called me a boy and the rebuke stung more than the cuff. I had fourteen summers. I was a man and I would make him proud of me.

I dashed back to the manor running as fast as I could, sliding on the wet cobbles of the yard, still dewy in the morning. I ran up the steps and burst into my room, breathless, only taking a moment to calm myself before rummaging though my physician’s trunk. I adjusted my kit for the necessities of battle while a steady litany of self-aimed rebukes was issued under my breath. Quarthine for pain, and fire nettle to stop bleeding, “stupid stupid”. Lots of bandages, “I know better… stupid”. And a hand saw for the poor unfortunates who could only be saved by losing a limb.

Kit and saw in hand I dashed back down the stairs and through the courtyard, past the kitchens and their beckoning scent of fresh bread. My mind should have been on my feet and not my stomach for I slipped on the cobbles and smashed into the side of the archway leading out of the hold. I was bruised and bleeding but I did not have time to feel the pain. I gathered the kit and hand-saw from the ground and prepared to sprint out the arch and down the road to where father waited. That was when I noticed the saw was bent, the handle broken. 

I turned white when I realized what had happened. The saw had been a gift from my father. A sign that he felt me able to handle one of the most difficult tasks a healer had to carry out. But more importantly he would scold me if I set out without the tools to do the job ahead of us. I had to think of something. I did not know what to do. I must have made a noise, lamenting my fate because the cook, Dougal, came out of the cold house next to the kitchens and demanded to know what the pitiful sounds were about. 

“Are you a kitten to be mewing in the yard?” he asked. 

My eyes lifted to him. His smug look began to make my hopeless situation complete. The hand of depression pressed firmly down upon me. Then I saw what he was carrying and I had an idea, the weight was lifted. I knew what I would do. 

Dougal had been cutting bacon strips from the hanging hogs for the staff to break their fast with. In his right hand he held the sharp sparing knife.

In his left he held a cleaver.


I caught up with my father on the road, and we set off after he looked through my kit, the rising sun at our backs. I was going to assist my father in his role as battle physician to Lord Morgan, Earl of Eldor. “Unusual hand-saw you have there son.” was his only comment. High praise indeed.

He called me son. I knew he was proud of me and my quick thinking. He prized the ability to be quick on the feet and swift to action. I beamed when he laid his hand upon my shoulder.


War was not the adventure I had planned though. I spent my time carrying water, heating water, preparing bandages (we went through our prepared supply in two days) and befriending death. Death began as a strange and horrible wonder. To see the last breath a man would take, to hear the dying rattle deep in his throat as his soul shed its bonds was something that continued to stop me in my tracks and inhabit my sleeping thoughts; at least the first few dozen times. As I said, Death began as a stranger, than became a curiosity, than an acquaintance, and finally a commonplace nuisance or even non-event as we began to not bother burying our dead. The cleaver served me well the time or two I had to use it.

The elves ambushed us at every turn in that god forsaken forest. They would not stand and fight. Our lines of supply were cut, our outriders ambushed and our infantry harassed. The forest demons would always melt away when we maneuvered to meet them. The flow of men into the infirmaries was a steady trickle. And I spent my days working harder than I had ever before. Then suddenly, things changed, the trickle became a river, than the river a flood as the flow of men doubled and then doubled again. Father sent me to find out what was going on. We must have been approaching someplace important to the elves. They were standing and fighting and dying. But we were dying too. Two weeks into the forest and we had finally found one of their cities.

Eventually we were able to smash their line and move into their city. Alien and disturbing are the words I would use to describe it. It was obvious no human mind could conceive the strange sights and dwellings we saw there. Most of the populace had already escaped, time bought with their dead. In our rage we burned and destroyed it. We cleansed the land of their demon art and abhorrent city. We burned everything.

Few survived the counter attack and the fires that escaped our control which began to burn wildly. I only remember bits and flashes. Horses riding at me, the beast itself screaming, arrows flying around me, tickling me like a knife tickles the flesh. Men screaming. Fire everywhere. I remember a dead elf with a hideous wound to her face. And finally, finding my father, the broken shaft of an arrow sticking from his neck, the Elven fletching in his hand. I worked on him. I did my best. I removed the arrow and tried to stop the flow, but it would seethe and jet from between my fingers, soaking me in a red cloak. I began to wake.

Prelate Astor, Lord Morgan’s battle priest, found us. He cured my father’s wound and led us out of there. He kept on glancing at me, a wary look on his face. I think he expected me to be in shock. Indeed, I cannot explain why I was not more troubled. Maybe it was death’s constant presence, or maybe something else was happening to me. Whatever the reason, I was not in shock at my father’s injury and the horrors around us. Just the opposite; my senses where sharp, my thoughts quick, I felt alive and vital. I mentioned “my baptism” before. And that is exactly what I think it was. Just as in some religions it is a ceremony to mark the passing into something new, so I had passed through and was remade.

We rode for days without food on the Prelate’s horse. I don’t even remember what happened to the Prelate, he did not make it. It turns out we were just a few of the handful of survivors from that great and glorious army. Lord Morgan survived as well. We stayed with him at his estate while my father recovered. I remember everything from those days. Indeed they are some of my “first” memories, at least the first ones that feel real.

The horrible debacle of Eldor’s army was laid at Lord Morgan’s feet. He was charged with gross negligence in the field and even treachery against the crown. I was fascinated at how he dealt with these accusations. He thundered his indignation. He made an example of those who dared to accuse him (he was not a believer in the old adage “don’t kill the messenger”). It became that none dared to utter words against him in or out of his hearing. Fear kept them his enemies at bay. I took note of all this and thought on it while my father and I journeyed home.

My father was never the same man. He had lost too much blood. Later, in my researching and schooling I would learn that it was common for a man who had lost blood flow to the head to become like my father became. Lost and wandering, like a child in the world of men. I would even experiment with it on occasion. Alas my technique was too imprecise and the subject would as often die as become the slackwit I had intended. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

He was too weak of spirit to stop the jackals from coming in to finish off the wounded prey, to pick the bones clean. While he saw his wife taken away to be a richer mans mistress, his estate and beautiful surrounding lands confiscated, his freedom reduced to a small cell he never lost the quaint look of bemused confusion. All this done by his peers, his “friends” and those he trusted. I took note of the men, nobles and gentlemen, who carried out these deeds. I remembered their names, their faces. I would not forget.

I was sent to live with my Mother’s brother in Mendarn. They continued my education and finished raising me to full adulthood. As a minor noble, a gentleman, my path was clear. I would be a surgeon. I would learn how to heal with my hands like my father. I would surpass him. And I would never, ever let the jackals pick at the corpse of the Lion again. I would gather influence and power. I would make sure that fear of me and my retribution would forestall anyone acting against me and mine. If the examples I had to made just happened to be those that destroyed my father, so much the better.


But the veil of foggy half-lived experiences descended again. It was another person who lived with my Aunt and Uncle. It was another person who began to suppress the real me, the “I” that had been born in blood. Years passed. I finished school and a surgeon’s apprenticeship; I “negotiated” a membership to the Society. Now I was a member as my father before me. But I did not belong. These men had the hearts of sheep. And I could never be happy in the endless searching for answers for curiosity’s sake. 

What to do with myself? Despite the promises I had made to myself when I was younger I had abandoned my revenge. The plans I had made to make others pay and establish myself with fear and terror so I would be above assault seemed like the fantasies of a wounded child. And they were. I was no longer that child, or so I thought. Directionless and searching for meaning I stumbled from position to position in both Mendarn and Eldor. I never stayed long enough to establish myself. What I was looking for I did not know.

It is dangerous to show talent and skill (as I had) but not protect one’s self with the armor of seniority in an institution or the favor of a powerful lord. I had neither and so I was a target. I was unfairly manipulated into resigning my latest cushy royal commission looking after some minor household. Why? To meet royal staffing promises made to the war council. I was given a military posting by decree. I had no choice.

I dreaded returning to the military. I had had nothing to do with war since the horrors of my childhood. I was not looking forward to reliving my experiences. But a small voice, growing louder inside of me by the day, began to whisper excitedly.

Two days before reporting for duty, while putting my personal affairs in order, a friend asked me cover for him in the public wards. I had few friends and valued those I did. I loathed the public wards but I told him I would cover. 

Descending the stone stairs into the public wards I fell in hate with them all over again. The dirt and filth was everywhere. The unwashed peasants and guttersnipes pawed at me. The lost and joyless laughter goaded me. I gritted my teeth and set to work. Few were glad of my administrations. 

It was in pox wards that I came upon her. She was in the last stages of Reanaarian Rot, the whore’s disease. 

And suddenly, I was awake again. Or at least I began to wake, as if from a long sleep. The sight of her there, covered in lesions reminded me of all that had been taken away. It reminded me of the realities of this world and what it took to not be its victim. I put my mother out of her misery with my own hands. With my newfound awareness I looked forward to what was to come. I would complete the circle; I would find my way in war. 

I served in a number of campaigns establishing a reputation for myself. I served as both surgeon and eventually war commander as my natural leadership and intuition made themselves known. The minor skirmishes with Cosdol whet my appetite for the coming war with Elves. Everyone knew it was coming. Eldor’s king used the threat of the Elves to keep his most powerful nobles in check, throwing one at the forest demons if it looked like he was becoming too powerful. Lord Sedd, in whose army I now served, was often said to be massing too much power to remain free of this fate.

Finally, the day came when we marched against the slant eyes. I had risen to a lesser position in Sedd’s councils and I was able to listen to the planning. I was delighted to hear that he had very specific goals. He would find an Elvish stronghold and torch it, with this victory he would return to Eldor victorious and, it was whispered, the clout to challenge even the king. 

He carried out his plans excellently. The Elves resisted again as they had before when Morgan’s army had approached their city. But the day came when once again I was staring at the weird Elven architecture. It was with relish that I lent my hand to its utter demise. 

Great was our preparedness, yet greater still was the Elves wrathful assault. I was working with the wounded when as if I was reliving my life the wounded began to pour in again. A river of pain and suffering entered our tents. The work was going too slow. I could not hack through bone and sinew quick enough with my saw. Then I remembered the tool I used for the job in that earlier war.

I came back from the mess tent with my new implement. The cleaver was shiny and unused (not much use for one out here, we had little meat). I set about taking off limbs and my vision began to haze red. Blood spattered over me. I began to finishing the process of waking. I saw the faces of all those that had destroyed my father and laid my mother low before me. I saw the imagined faces of all those foes who would ever set themselves in my path instead of my patients. 

I do not know at what point our position was overrun. All I know is that I continued to swing that cleaver. With each swing it felt lighter and I felt stronger. With each new baptism in the blood of my enemies I was renewed and made greater. When our soldiers regained my position they found me surrounded by the bodies of Elven warriors. I had three arrows in me. I had not even felt them.

I had never felt so alive before! I returned to Eldor with Sedd’s army. He rode at its head triumphantly into Dalen while the crowds cheered his every move. He died under an assassin’s blade. He was a fool.

But I had already moved on. I again remembered the promises I had made to myself. I set out to make them a reality. 

My first victim was Lord Virgil Ottercod. It was he who had taken my mother away. I blamed him for her long slide into putridity. I insinuated myself into his circle of friends; his confidence. It was easy, with his predilections towards beautiful women (even at his advanced age), to introduce him to a lovely specimen to whom I had introduced the same Rot as had plagued my mother (without her knowledge, of course). As his closest medically inclined friend and peer, it fell to me to treat him. It is strange, with all my work his condition seemed to steadily worsen. Even when he began to scream from the pain my medicines availed him not. He was a boon to me in his final days, fore if ever I felt down or out of sorts all I needed to do was pay him a visit and soon my spirit was uplifted again. I told him who I was before the last. In my triumph I even boasted of it to his friends. After all, what could they do? What could they prove?

I had many successes. Years passed and my name gathered notice.

I was putting together my plans for my next targets. Lord and Lady Mindew had been the ones to manipulate me back into the army. She was as guilty as he, pushing him to higher positions at the expense of those like myself. Actually I owed them thanks for unintentionally leading to my re-awakening. But I still felt like they would make an easy target. I would not finish them off; just make another public example of those that crossed me. I wanted my reputation to grow.

I never saw the blow that brought the darkness. I had been meeting with the Mindew’s barrister. Some simple blackmail had put him in my pocket and I was outlining my plans to bankrupt the Mindew’s with his “help”. A bar fight seemed to erupt spontaneously around us. I was quick to my feat, cleaver in hand. I had just taken off one of the ruffians arm at the shoulder, the battle song coming to my heart when the lights went out.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Marigold’s Journal*

*Marigold’s Journal - Prequel Entry*

We found some wreckage from the ship this morning washed up on the beach. There was some bodies, some pieces of the ship, and some crates. In one of the boxes were some oilskin packages which we unwrapped and found books and quills and ink. Mikayla were very happy to find them, but the books was empty, so I didn’t understand why she were so excited. She told me that she were goin to start a journal of our travels. I asked her why, and she told me about how when she were little her mam and da traveled a lot. Her mam wrote about their travels and would give Mikayla the books to read when she came home. She said she were gonna to do the same, so that if she ever found her mam and da again they could read about her travels. Or maybe her children would. Or she could read them again when she were old and grey and sittin by the fire. If it was all writ down then she would be able to remember it all better.

She let me read some of what she wrote that first night. It had nothin to do with what has happened to us, but told a little about her when she were young. When I asked her why she had wrote that she told me every story has a beginnin, and that this were hers. Then she told me everyone’s life is a story, and every story is a little bit different. She said I should take one of the books and some of the quills and ink and write my own story. She told me even the parts that I wrote about what happened to us would be a little different from what she wrote because we was different people and see even the same thing a little differently. 

One of the merchants laughed and said he doubts I can write, but I can read, so why not able to write too? It do take me a while, and my letters aint near so pretty as Mikayla’s, but they can be read. And maybe one day I will have children who will want to hear stories of when their mam went on adventures.

So I took two of the littler books and now I am writing the beginning of my own story.


I were born near the village of Crossways, in the fief of the Earl of Markley. Me da were undergardener for the squire, and me mam the underhousekeeper. She knew her letters and ciphers because her grandda had been a priest. She taught my da, and then she taught Rhoddy and me when we was old enough. Rhoddy were me older brother. We had a nice little cottage on the squire’s manor and we was very happy until the squire died. Then the manor were sold and the new owner came. He were a great lord and had bought the manor to be a place for parties for his friends to hunt and have orgies, or so me mam says. He brought other men, and changed the grounds, makin the homewood bigger and the gardens smaller. There were no need for an undergarder no more, and he said since he weren’t gonna to live there always that he needed no underhousekeeper either and mam so too old for a chambermaid. But mam said it were because she was no whore. But we had to leave our cottage and find a new home anyways. 

Lucky the squire had left all his servants 25 gold pieces each. Since mam and da both worked for the squire that meant we had 50 gold plus what mam had put away. So we went to the city to stay with grandda at the temple while da and mam tried to find work at the fall hiring fair.

Da were offered a job at an apothecary tendin the greenhouses. Mam found a job in one of the big inns as the head laundress. Sos we was even better off than afore. They gots us a nice little house in the city, in an area with lots of other halflings. Of course it weren’t really a house. The building were many houses put together. But it were nice, and there were a little garden in the back that everyone shared, and even a stable for those as had a horse and buggy but we didn’t. 

Things was real nice, til the Fever came. Rhoddy got it first, cause he were always playin in the stables and one of the grooms were who brought the sickness to the city I think. Mam sent me to the temple so’s I wouldn’t get sick. I didn’t, even though most everyone else got it too even the priests. 

One day grandda told me Rhoddy had died, and that mam and da was sick too. Then grandda got sick with the fever and I went home to tell me mam. When I got there the building had been fired. One of the neighbors tole me that the city were burnin it and lots a others cause everyone there had died and they didn’t want noone catchin the Fever later from anythin left in the buildins. I went back to the temple cause I had nowheres else to go, but I was pure scart. Five days later me grandda died. He was the last of the priests. The city burned the temple down too and I had nowheres to go atall.


There were lots of kids left without parents though no sos many after that first winter. We learnt real quick to run and hide when the city guard came round cause if you gots caught you was next seen on the slave block. It were hard for a long while cause food weren’t easy to find nor shelter from the cold. But I managed until the city got back to normal. 

I came up with a idea to keep me and me pals fed. On market day I would take the gang to the nearest market square and go to each a the farmers. We would post a lookout in exchange for the slightly bruised goods the farmer had. Our lookout would keep kids away and warn the farmer if any known thief approached his stall.

There weren’t but a couple takers the first few times and that were pity for us I think, but it didn’t take long afore most of the stallholders was hirin us. Even the butchers wanted one of us lookouts, and paid with good meaty scraps and bones. Bakers paid us with black bread and sometimes white bread or rolls as was burnt a bit. Wasn’t long afore we had us a snug little kip in the local thieves holes. They stayed away from the stalls we guarded and we got food enough to feed most all the thieves in our territory. Even now, the same stew pots bubble alla time. Aint the best tastin food, but it be fillin and warm and there always be enough to eat without us havin to pay a lotta money. Even when we does buy we gets cheap from our merchants.

Twere my idea sos I ran the gig for a couple of years, til one of the thieves decided to take me fer his apprentice. Ole Scarface weren’t the first to make me an offer but he were the first as interested me. I never learnt to work a crowd cause I didn’t think it were worth it. Too dangerous and I be real little, always will be and not so strong. But Ole Scarface were a housebreaker and that seemed less risky to me. Sos I learnt to case a place and break in and snatch what I could then hightail it outta there. He were a good master, Ole Scarface were and knew his business. He taught me all the common hidin places and how to pick a lock and spot a trap, even how to tell if it be likely to be a magical trap.


It be a shame I dinna discover me sorcery sooner or Ole Scarface might notta swung. It were a magical trap as done him in. Almost caught me too, they did cause the trap made so much noise I weren’t able to get away without bein seen. They as chased me was real smart too, knowin all the tricks I did. It were magic as finally threw them off my scent and I been practicin ever since. Now I can sees if a trap be magical an I be teachin meself to make them harmless. Its been a interestin year, targeting just mages homes and workin ta take down their spells. I only been completely successful twice, but boy were it worth it! I figger I be gettin good enough at this and I won’t need but two more years afore I can retire.

And I do wanna retire. Thievin is a no-win job. The onny ole thieves ye’ll meet are those as don’t work no mores, just teach. Too risky and too easy to be caught. Or betrayed by another gang. Or even by a rival in your own gang. Nope, I just wanna earn me enough gold to buy a little cottage n the country, with a great big orchard and a big garden sos I can raise apples and cherries and pumpkins and get fat and lazy. And maybe get me a husband and have a coupla children afore I get fat and lazy. Kids is fun, and too I’d have someone as to look after me when I gets old. Hope my stash is still safe in its hidey hole down in the sewers. If not, well, mayhap I’ll be earnin enough on the journey home.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Jaresh's Journal*

*Jaresh's Journal - Entry Three*

The slavers definitely preferred that we watch our feet at all times. They actively discouraged us, through the application of various whips and other such implements, from raising our heads - making any attempts at communication very difficult. Despite all this, through careful and discreet observation I was able to ascertain that I was chained in line between a brandobian gentleman and an older fellow whose origins I could not discern. 

Shortly after our time on the platform, we were led through the city, and onto another ship. The city itself was breathtaking, so many buildings, and so many people, all in one place. It was grand and dirty and inscrutable, bustling with activity. I found it overwhelming; it was at the same time fascinating and intimidating. I was mildly relieved to be led onto the ship, whereupon we were taken down to a large room (they called it a "hold"), and chained individually to a large low wooden beam running the length of the room. Once they were satisfied that we were secure, one of the slavers gruffly informed us that "this'll be gooin a loot eas'yer oon ye if'n ye make noo trooble", and left us, locking the door behind himself with a heavy metallic click. 

I spend a few moments trying to decode the slaver's message, before my thoughts turned to my companions, who I was now free to observe. The brandobian to my right seemed to prefer his own company, minimally reponding to my overture - he seemed very preoccupied with a pair of elves chained further down. He appeared to be somewhat older than the rest of us, and I wondered briefly how such an obviously educated man had come to share our fate. I also wondered at the barely concealed hatred in his eyes as he glared at the tree people - clearly this was a man to be wary of. 

The slave to my left also appeared to be somewhat older the rest of us, and where we generally looked hardy and fit, he appeared somewhat soft and frail. He was also clearly terrified of the slavers, and would not raise his head in their presence. However, once thay had gone, I was able to speak with him briefly. He related, in a furitive voice, that he was the main reason that this ship had been chartered. He said that he was an enchanter by trade, who had been captured in a "house raid" and sold to a noble whose name he did not know, for a vast sum. This noble, he told me, intended to use his talents in the creation of magical items for the purpose of gaining advantage over his political adversaries, and had arranged for the use of this ship in order to speed his arrival. I must have seemed incredulous, for he briefly became agitated, jerking down the collar of his ragged tunic to reveal a fine silver chain, tight around his neck, and insisting that I look at it. It was, he explained conspiratorially, a charm to prevent the casting of spells. Although I didn't say so at the time, it did not appear exceptional to me, except in the fact that it was around a slave's neck. He went on for several more minutes, becoming less and less coherent, before finally sputtering to silence. 

I considered whether his claims could have any merit. Though it was true that the slavers did seem to pay a bit more mind to his welfare, without showing anything remotely resembling actual kindness, of course, I thought it more likely that the fear and strain of his situation had somehow damaged his mind, and he had invented his story to somehow protect himself. In any case, enchanter or not, he was here, chained to the beam with the rest of us. 

When you are chained in place in the hold, the days onboard a ship are interminable. In fact, as there were no windows, we could never be sure what time it really was. The elves spent their time softly singing a mournful song together. My command of their tongue is poor, but I was able to make out a bit of the story - apparently the song, which went on for some three days without reaching any conclusion that I could detect, told the tale of an elven princess who fell in love with a mortal man. They had a long and fruitful life together, dealing as best they could with the prejudices of their races against each other. He reached the end of his days and passed beyond late in the first night of singing. She spent the next two days of the performance watching successive generations of her offspring living out their natural lives from the confines of the elven court, and yearning for the touch of her lost husband. It was beautifully performed, in multi-voice minor key harmony with a rythm that matched that of the ship itself, but its interminable length became annoying. The brandobian gentleman had tried, within minutes of their starting, to shout them to silence, and was temporarily successful, as his yelling brought the slavers. They struck him several times as a reminder that thay preferred silence, and then left, locking the door behind them again. The elves promptly resumed their song. The brandobian looked as if he was being slowly roasted, but did not yell again.

As the elves recounted their princess' seventeenth generation's accomplishments, and her simultaneous satisfaction at their goodliness and sorrow at the absence of those who had gone before, what appeared to be a giant rock flew through the wall of the hold. It took one of the elves with it out the other side, to everyone's shocked relief. The brandobian cheered wildly, and the enchanter didn't seem to notice - he had been sleeping a lot. We had heard some sort of growing commotion above, and the motion of the ship had changed, but noone had expected anything like this to happen. Immediately thereafter, another rock ripped through the hold, this one missing the slaves, but leaving two more holes in the ship as it entered and exited. Through those holes, those that were close enough could see that the sea was angry and the sky was unnaturally dark. Those on the side of the ship from which the rocks had come reported being able to see a black ship in the distance, closing fast.

It seemed entirely likely that more rocks would be coming, and riding one out the other side of the ship elvenstyle was not an appealing prospect. Our chains were attached to the beam by way of large bolts, and over the course of our journey, I had worried at mine until it began to move a bit. There was clearly no more time for that, so I braced my feet and pulled as hard as I could. And it moved! 

At that moment, the door to the hold flew open, and slavers and crewmen rushed in. The first in pointed my way and said "thar, that's tha one, gat him!" While the crewmen surveyed the holes in the ship, three burly slavers rushed over, grabbed the supposed enchanter to my left, unchained him, and carried him from the hold; the sailors left right behind them, worriedly exclaiming that "the ship is doomed". I slumped over the beam to hide my progress towards freedom. In the commotion, I heard a voice from outside ask in a commanding fashion, what was to be done with the other slaves. The reply was chilling in its simplicity - "nothing". No more time to waste! I braced my feet and pulled as hard as I could; twisting and turning I was slowly able to work the bolt out of the wood. Once I had freed myself, I saw that the brandobian was also trying, so I helped him - it went much faster with two people pulling. I freed several other slaves, and those freed others, and in a few minutes we were all free. 

Water was beginning to splash in through the holes in the hull - this ship would not continue to float much longer. The brandobian, who had introduced himself as Tyran, looked out through one of the holes, and saw a lifeboat being prepared. Our first thought was to climb up and take it, but the side of the ship offered no handholds. We decided then to wait until it was lowered into the sea, and take it there. One of the other slaves found a cluster of barrels under a tarp at the back of the hold. These were determined to be full of water, and emptied to make floats. The brandobian and I chained a few of them together, and flung them out a hole on the side away from the approaching ship. We, and several of the other slaves, followed them out and clung to them in the water, as we awaited the lifeboat.

It arrived a few moments later. In it were two sailors and three passengers - two of which were grossly overweight, but wore clothing of rich fabric and jewelry of heavy gold. The other passenger, a red haired man with a rapier at his side, asked a question of one of the sailors, and I recognised his voice as being the one which had earlier expressed concern over the plight of the slaves in the hold. Tyran and I, by mutual agreement, floated low in the water, playing dead and waiting for the boat to move within reach. 

Our plan was, if not compromised then complicated, when one of our companions in the slave hold, a young woman, clambered atop the barrel raft and crouched, evidently preparing for an assault on the lifeboat. It struck me as odd that she had somehow managed to obtain a dagger of some sort, and yet had also lost or misplaced her undergarments - a fact that, given our relative positions, I could not help but notice. I averted my eyes briefly in respect of her modesty, but what was happening on the lifeboat was too important, and I needed to watch so as not to miss my opportunity. 

Which never came. The red haired man saw the woman, and just like in the elves' song, their eyes met, and his heart melted, and he motioned her aboard, raising much argument from the boat's other occupants. It was she who insisted that the barrels be lashed to the boat and towed along, and the red haired man made it so. The brandobian and I stayed where we were, clinging to the barrels in the water, biding our time with a few other refugees. 

Happily, the sailors chose well, and were strong rowers. We made landfall sometime that night.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Mikayla's Journal*

*Mikayla’s Journal - Entry One*

Most of my fellow captives in the ship seemed broken of spirit and resigned to their fate. They sat, hunched and dull-eyed, with little to say, flinching every time one of the guards came near. But there were exceptions.

In one port we at which we stopped, the guards brought in what I first took to be a young child, struggling wildly in their grip. No sooner had they chained her into a set of manacles and started to leave the hold that she leaped onto the last one of them, smashing a length of chain down upon his head. He went down like a felled ox and quick as a flash, the child had bolted through the legs of the other guards. But in the end I guess they caught her, for they brought her limp body back shortly thereafter, and chained her next to me.

What I had first taken for a child was actually a young halfling. The guards had beaten her terribly, but when she awoke, with a piteous groan, she said she’d suffered worse in her day, and nothing seemed to be broken. Her name, she told me, was Marigold, and the slavers not bought her legitimately. She apparently had been going through the docks on her way to work, and was snatched off the street. 

I gave her an edited version of how I had come to be here in the ship, and when she realized I knew how to fight, she seemed pleased. We often discussed various plans of escape, but Marigold was of the opinion that it was better to wait until we were at our final destination. If we acted docilely throughout the sale process and the journey to wherever our new home would be, we would have a much better chance of escaping successfully, with provisions, weapons and clothing, and even some money. I was doubtful about the two of us staying together, but she was right. Halflings, apparently, aren’t popular as slaves, and she was included in my sale, which took place in the Theocracy of Pell.

We were loaded aboard a ship with several other slaves, mostly human, but two of them gnomes. They I watched in interest, having never seen gnomes before. Even though they were as battered and bruised as the rest of us, their eyes, bright with curiosity, watched everything and seemed to miss nothing. Then, two elves were brought in and chained nearby. Shortly thereafter we felt the ship begin to move.

There were five other humans chained in the hold; all of them male. Two of which huddled in on themselves and cringed away from the new set of guards every time they came in. One sat, serene and calm, no matter what happened around him. Be he was always alert, as quick to notice things as the gnomes, and I thought he bore watching. Another was obviously some young noble who had gotten himself in trouble, and didn’t realize just yet how serious his situation was. Soft was a good word for him, soft hands that had probably never seen an honest day’s work, soft body with soft muscles, soft voice. I felt sorry for him, in an abstract way, wondering how long it would take for him to loose that noble’s arrogance. 


The last man was the most intriguing to me, but he also sent chills up my spine, the intent way he studied each and every one of our guards. I would not want to be any of them, should he get loose. Marigold watched him with suppressed eagerness.

We traveled for several days, some of us passing the time in quiet conversation. It had to be quiet, for the guards would beat any they heard speaking. The main topic of conversation was usually where we were going to end up. Speculation was rife, but on the fifth day Marigold suddenly spoke up, saying we were all headed for some brothel. The three men started muttering among themselves more urgently, after that. When I pointed this out to Marigold, she merely grinned sardonically and said she was starting to get tired of her chains.

One day, the weather turned queer. Marigold suddenly began to struggle in her manacles, yelling about wizard weather and that we were all doomed, managing somehow to get free. The guards quickly subdued her, but were obviously uneasy themselves. They secured us to the ship and locked us into the hold. There we waited tensely for what was to come. After a few hours, we heard the sound of cannon. Marigold threw herself to the ground, pulling me down with her, and began to writhe wildly. I asked her what she was doing, and suddenly she was out of her chains, and helping me to get out of mine. Telling me to stay down, she quickly made her way down the aisle, freeing the gnomes and the elves, who had not yet managed to free themselves.

There was a sudden loud roar, a great crash, and splinters of wood were raining down on me, stinging me like a swarm of bees. When my eyesight finally cleared, I saw two gaping holes in the sides of the ship, where a cannonball had hurdled through. People were screaming and clawing each other, trying to get through the locked door. Marigold came crawling back to me, shouting shrilly for everyone to get down. There was another deafening crash, another two holes appeared in the ship, and two bodies fell, one headless and one with a cannonball-sized hole in its chest.

The next few minutes were a chaotic swirl of activity. Several barrels were lashed together and thrown through the huge, gaping hole, where water was pouring into the ship. As we all jumped into the water, grabbing pieces of wood to help us float, and making our way to the barrels, a small lifeboat was lowered into our midst. 

In the boat were two sailors and three passengers. I managed to persuade them to pull me into the boat and one of the passengers insisted that the sailors fasten the barrels to the back of the little rowboat. When we eventually washed up on the shore I discovered that neither elf had seemed to survive the shipwreck, nor had the two men who I believe had been slaves for some time.


What a desolate place it was where we landed. Saltwater behind us, desert before us. We had a few tense moments when Tyran, the man whom I had known would be dangerous, wanted to kill the hapless sailors who had brought us safely to shore. The one passenger, Elithian, is a cleric, and he persuaded Tyran to leave the sailors alone, pointing out that they had nothing to do with our enslavement. We made camp for the night and in the morning caught sight of a road a little ways off, running parallel to the shore. As none of us wished to be enslaved again, we decided to stick to the shoreline, and headed east. We walked for days, the poor sailors taking turns carrying our one barrel of precious fresh water, which Elithian replenished daily. The gnomes taught us how to find clams and fish in the tidal pools, so we did not starve. 

The sailors were too tired from lugging the heavy barrel to turn on us, but I worried about the two merchants, who had also been in the little lifeboat. I had found a knife among the dead in the water and had given it to Tyran, thinking he was our best bet for continued freedom. I need not have worried, however. Just walking all day seemed to tax the two merchants to the limit of their endurance.

During those days of endless slogging through the sand beneath a baking sun, I learned a little about each of my newfound companions. The gnomes kept to themselves, doing their share of the camp work and providing much of the food for the rest of us. Marigold’s story I knew, and she split her time between the company of the gnomes, searching for food, and keeping me company, for we were the only females in the group.

I was right about the one young nobleman. His name was Azoi, and he was some nobleman’s younger son, who dabbled in wizardry to ease the ennui of his useless existence. He had set out to learn more magic, had somehow offended some town’s law keepers, and so been sold into slavery to pay his fines. He was quiet, did what he was asked without complaint, and was quick to find whatever humor might lie in a situation, even if it was turned on him.

Tyran said little about himself other than that he was a chirurgeon. He had some familiarity with the customs of the locals of the area where we thought we were, and was quick to appoint himself our leader. He was blusteringly loud, opinionated, and bigoted, but competent. The non-humans tended to avoid him, and he bullied the sailors and the merchants, but seemed to get along well with the cleric and the other former slaves.

Jaresh did not say much, but when I saw him fight, I recognized him for one of those who dedicate their lives to becoming one with themselves and their surroundings, whose body becomes their weapon. He also was quiet, doing what was asked of him without complaint, and spending much time in meditation and graceful, patterned exercises.

Eventually we spotted a small hamlet upon the road. There was much spirited discussion as to whether or not to chance approaching the village, but in the end it was decided to avoid the place. We continued on along the shore, waiting only for dusk to hide us from sight. The sailors and merchants caused such a fuss, however, Tyran informed them, when we made camp late that night, that they would be allowed to go back to the settlement when we were half a day’s march past the place.

That night we were attacked by a small pack of Kobolds. One of the gnomes was killed, but Elithian, Jaresh and, surprisingly, Azoi, each killed one of the creatures. Even Marigold tried to attack one, but missed. Tyran held back even though he had a weapon, and this was a cause of worry for me, though I said nothing at the time. All he did was yell loudly at the creatures to halt. Unimpressed, they ignored him, and ran off.

When we returned to camp, the sailors and merchants had disappeared, of course. We went after them and this time when Tyran yelled at our quarry to halt, they did. Abruptly. And it occurred to me that perhaps Tyran, too, had some magic, though I had not seen him studying the spell book that had washed ashore, nor had I seen him praying like Elithian. I would have asked, but I do not think he likes me and he was in such a foul mood I had no wish to have him turn it on me.

He was harsh with the sailors and the merchants, once we got them back to camp. He forced them to strip, and searched their clothes, confiscating all the money he found. I understood the necessity of it; they were obviously not slaves, so would not need money; their families or guilds would send whatever funds they needed to see them home, but we needed the money to protect us from being recaptured. But finally, I felt Tyran took things too far when he demanded their signet rings. I had nothing against these men; they had done nothing to try to harm me. I did not feel it necessary to deprive them of their only proof of identity, and told Tyran so. An argument ensued, and I finally told him that if he persisted on trying to take the rings, I would be honor bound to take action against him. Tyran then turned to the rest of the party for support. Once more Elithian stepped in and defused a tense situation, persuading Tyran to allow the merchants to keep their rings, and even to be given back a little of the coin.

Halfway through our next day’s march, we let the sailors and the merchants go, though Tyran said darkly that he doubted they would make it safely to the little village an assessment I privately agreed with, but they were grown men and it free to make their own choices. Then we continued on our journey. Right before nightfall we spied another town, this one much larger, and obviously with a port of some kind. It was decided to take our chances here, spending some of the coin we had taken from the merchants to get us all some decent clothing, some supplies, and maybe even arrange for some transportation out of here. Reluctantly, Marigold and the gnome allowed themselves to be manacled again, for in this land, being non-human would have automatically 
earned them slavery. Well, it is easy to see where Tyran learned his bigotry. These people are a sour, joyless lot, with prejudices oozing from every pore.

The accommodations were poor, the food barely edible, but oh, they know how to provide a bath! Marigold, acting as my body slave, came into the bathing chamber with me. Once we were alone, she surprised me by casting a spell that had us both clean and neat and able to enjoy a long soak in clean water. When I asked her why she hadn’t used magic before to escape, she told me she knew very little magic, and this spell was the only really useful one she knew. She is apparently a sorcerer, for she told me she never had a spell book. She also asked me not to let the others know that she had any magical ability, a request I shall of course respect.

It is amazing what a bath, a hot meal and clean clothes will do for one’s outlook on life. I begin to have hope that I may get out of this alive and free. We have found out that Kobolds often attack in this area, and I wonder if the sailors and merchants reached safety. I have my doubts, but Tyran obviously thinks they had no chance, and grumbles about wasting good money. If he keeps it up, I swear I’m going to introduce his loud, foul mouth to my fist, though I doubt it will do any good.

I am not happy with the situation, and I know my mother would have been disappointed in me. I should have done more to protect those men, but I was not willing to be chained again, and they would not continue on with us. Indeed , once we reached this place, they may well have turned us in, despite the fact that had it not been for us, they would never have reached safety alive.

I do not know what we are going to do now; what actions we will take. We do not have very much money, and I do not wish to stay in this city. The people here seem as dull and dreary as the clothing they wear.

For now I must throw in my lot with this group of ex-slaves and the cleric, but I will not let down my guard. Elithian has proved to be an honorable, trustworthy companion, though some of his views are a little misguided. Jaresh I cannot make a judgement on; he did nothing to harm the merchants and sailors, but neither did he do anything to aid them. Azoi is little more than a spoiled brat of a nobleman. He cast a spell that detected magic on the merchants’ rings, so of course he wanted them, and never mind the consequences to the merchants if they did not have their rings when they reached civilization (if you can call this place civilized). Just like a little child who sees a shiny object and wants it, irregardless of to whom it truly belongs. Typical droit de seigneur attitude, in all of its glorious misuse.

I will do my best to protect Marigold and the gnome, whose name I can neither spell, nor pronounce. I will not allow Tyran and the others to sell them back into slavery, and I do believe the thought has crossed that man’s mind. For now we are useful to him, and so he welcomes our presence, but I cannot be easy with him. I see the capacity for ruthlessness in him, and I do not want to be in a position of powerlessness when he no longer thinks us necessary. I will guard my back well.

Nothing in my mother’s journals, or her tales, prepared me for such a state as I find myself. I can only hope that what I have learned from my parents and my teachers will stand me in good stead. May the Knight of the Gods find me worthy of His protection.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Tyran's Journal*

*Tyran’s Journal the First*

I woke to the splash of water on my face. I quickly took in the manacles, the burly armed men, the dank cell I was being kept in. I almost panicked. Believing others were capable of what I was capable of I was getting ready to make a last stand when I realized I was in no immediate danger. These men weren’t threatening me. And they carried themselves like those who dealt in human merchandise. I was being sold into slavery. Big mistake on their part. I relaxed a little. I could take some abuse, and then… Well I knew it was just a matter of time before I was free. Then I would be able to say thanks to those responsible. I bided my time by thinking up appropriate methods of showing my gratitude. 

Eventually I was led out of my cell and out onto the street. We were in Pel Brolenon. The row of slave blocks screamed out its name better than any road post. It is an interesting place full of interesting people. I will have to return one day for I did not have a chance to see much of it. I, along with some other poor unfortunates, was sold on the block and quickly shipped out to sea. 

Once onboard and in the slave hold I kept to myself. It seemed the best way to not attract the guards notice. No chances for escape were likely to present themselves at sea so I continued to keep my head low and observe my fellow passengers. The first to attract my notice were some of the vile forest folk. A pair of them and some of their half breeds as well. I wouldn’t mind a moment or two with them when no one was watching.

There were some Brandobians and some Kalimarians. Also, one of the Dejy wandering folk (thieves and ne’re-do-wells all of them) was in our midst along with a pair of gnomes and a halfling. Fine slave stock indeed.

Two days out of port the storm came. The steady creaking and other rhythmic sounds of the ship groaning its way up each new wave was broken by shouts and movement up above. Something was going on. Guards came in and made sure we were all locked down and then bolted the door to our hold. 

Luckily whoever was attacking the slavers made some nice new doors for us in the side of the ship. The projectile even took out some of the elves. That’s what I call killing two birds with one stone.

The shouts above increased in volume, another rock came flying through. It didn’t take long to figure out we needed to get out quick or die. The Dejy helped be pull the spike from my manacles out of the wood. He seemed a capable fellow. We emptied some barrels and chained them together. Out the whole they went along with a full water barrel and us. The other slaves had all wriggled out of their chains or pulled them out as had I. They were jumping out of the sides like rats leaving a… well, you know.

I can still close my eyes and see in my minds eyes the vision of the ship looming above us. Sailors jumping into the water. Runabouts being lowered, fire, yelling, and my old friend death making his rounds. The ship listing and then shuddering as if some unseen giant’s hand had reached out and gave it a good smack. The attacker must have rammed her. I can still see it. Ah, memories.

Soon one of the small boats was in the water near us and I prepared to make my move. With the help of the Dejy and some of the others clinging to our make shift raft I thought we could overpower those on the boat and take it. At this point one of those clinging to our barrels, a woman of Kalmarian stock, pled for help to those on the boat. Fat chance they will help us you stupid bitch. I was furious that she gave us away. But wait, one on the boat was actually helping. His presence made me hold back. His actions along with the sword at his side and the way he held himself made me decide to take a wait and see approach.

This young noble in the boat with a weakness for looking kind hearted actually convinced the others in the boat, two sailors and a pair of merchants, to tow us. Amazing. Within a few hours we spotted land, made for it and reached it. The sailors were exhausted from hard rowing (especially with our extra drag), and now was a good moment to strike. 

I took the chains I was carrying and made to use one end to dash one of the sailors upside his noggin. Unfortunately I underestimated the effects of my prolonged exposure to the cold sea. The shackles slipped in my numb fingers and ended up smashing my hand. Before I could follow up, his highness the lord of principles was there with his rapier (please) drawn, the blade between me and my prey. He nattered on about needing to get along or some such. 

Anyway you look at it, the moment was gone. I would have to be more careful. We made camp, started a fire, shielded from inland (we were not sure about the inhabitants) and generally collapsed. It was during this time that the woman, Mikalya, slipped me a dagger. Ah good, I had already forgiven her for her actions in the water, it was obvious that she wasn’t purposely attempting to wreck our chances, and now this. She knew where her best chances lay.

In the morning I took stock of my fellow survivors while eating some fish the gnomes caught. There were the sailors, an uncomplicated pair, they seemed lost. Our second pair was two merchants. Grossly fat, soft, money grubbers. I was sure they had on them the means of bettering our position once we reached some kind of civilization. The third pair was the gnomes I had mentioned earlier. They seemed to know their place and I took them no more notice. My other companions, however, stood out.

The Dejy’s name was Jaresh. He was quick on his feet. Moved like a hunting cat and made my earlier comment about him seeming capable an understatement. But, luckily, he also seemed to be happy sticking with me. I would give him no reason to do otherwise.

My fellow Brandobian’s name was Azoi. He was a queer fellow, but then, Cosdol is a queer place. I wasn’t sure what he was good for, most nobles without any skills usually spoke with more command, but he had the manners of a freeman about him. It wasn’t till later that I began to learn of Azoi’s talents. I learned he liked compliments and soon had his trust.

I’ve already spoken of Mikalya. She was Brandobian and a little of an enigma. She gave me the knife, so I thought she was aware of what needed to be done to best insure our survival. But she showed hesitation and later hostile resistance to letting me do it. She spoke with the educated speech of a noble, but the patterns and attitude of a freeman. She was no lady that was sure. Blood’s truth she even acted the warrior. Interesting, we will have to see.

Lord do-gooder went by the name of Ithian. He was another Brandobian noble; a Dandy through and through, and a priest as well. His attitudes and platitudes quickly came out and he had an opinion about everything. I love an idealist; they are adept at throwing the tools I need to manipulate them right into my lap.

And lastly there was the runt. Her name was Merigold. She seemed to have some understanding with Mikalya (women flock like sheep). She was no farmer. That was sure. My guess is that she possessed the other set of talents that her kind is known for. She would be useful.

I sat there in the light of the early dawn, the waves crashing near us. I watched them all. After letting a few of them stumble about trying to figure out what we should do. I stood up and took charge. I noticed little resistance. Good. 

We made our way off the small barrier island we were on and then east (the farther away from Pel Brolenon the better). It wasn’t long before a small town standing astride the coastal road we shadowed came over the horizon. The merchants began to become excited. It was time to relieve them of their burdens and, hopefully, their lives. But Ithian and Mikalya would obviously be a problem. I made sure to push how we were all in danger if the merchant’s gave us away. We were, after all, just a bunch of escaped slaves.

We passed the town in the dark of night, keeping low and right at the waters edge. We camped a few hours past sight of its low walls. The merchant’s were told they would be free to go on the morrow, the sailors were also eager to take their leave of our slave company.

Vermin folk attacked us in the night. More was made clear of my companion’s abilities. Azoi took down two with magic bolts. Ah, a mage, and a competent one. The third was dispatched by Jaresh I think. Everyone except Mikalya showed some kind of martial prowess (Merigolds whizzing rocks didn’t look cute at all). I chased the fourth for a moment before returning to find that, of course, the sailors and merchants had fled like I planned. They would not be able to get far, exhausted and out of shape as they were I would have them in moments and that would be that.

What I had not planned for was Ithian running after them with me. After bringing them to a halt with my threats, there was no chance to dispatch them. Ithian would never be able to accept it. So we brought them back to camp and I stripped them down, taking all that could be useful to us. 

But not only did Mikalya and Ithian oppose killing them (I had warned them), they wanted to leave them their signet rings (enchanted according to Azoi) and some money. Gods save us from these children playing grown-up games!

So after walking a short way we sent them off back to the small town in the afternoon. Not long after we came upon another, larger town. By the look of the architecture it seemed that these must be Eldorian colonies. That would put us on the edge of the Elos desert. Very inhospitable country.

Well, we needed to seek refuge and turn this money and items we took off the merchants into food and equipment. This town would do.


----------



## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Azoi's Journal*

*Azoi's Journal - Entry One*

I find myself on the shore of a foreign land with people I know little 
about. The majority of our belongings have been lost. Most disturbing is 
the absence of my spellbook - the object of my life's focus. Without it, 
I'm little more than a peon. It's starting to look like I'm going to have 
to head back home and beg my family to take me back in. No! I can't do 
that. I can't let them think that I've been beaten. I will NOT do that.

While the rest of the group began salvaging items that floated ashore, I 
sat down and considered what to do next. I felt shaken and uneasy. Before I 
came to any decision, I was told that some books were found. Books! Quickly 
I ran over to the crate to examine the contents. I couldn't believe what I 
saw. A spellbook! I snatched it up faster than a angry badger and retreated 
to a quiet part of the beach. Screw you, dad! You're not going to see me 
crawling home this time!

I studied throughout the night and empowered myself with the ancient magics 
that I was born to wield. With a newfound confidence, my keen mind took 
over. Now, let's see what kind of situation I'm in and who I'm stuck with.

First, there's Merrigold. She's shorter than me, which is refreshing, but 
that's due to the fact she's a halfling. Full of energy and childish - it's 
hard to take her seriously. I can imagine the taunting she receives because 
of her height, and it's because of this that I have sympathy for her. 
That's not a life anyone should have to live.

Next, there's Ithian. He wasn't a slave like the rest of us, and he has 
most of his belongings. Looks like some sort of noble, probably a higher 
status than me. He wields a thin sword... let me think for a moment... aha! 
I think it's called a rapier. He definitely looks capable in combat. I'll 
have to set up some sort of arrangement with him to make sure I'm well 
defended when the going gets tough. But what I noticed most about him is 
the holy symbol dedicated to the Lady of Fate that he wears. Her I respect. 
Who doesn't want to control their own fate?

Jaresh is a quiet one. He keeps to himself and is happy to follow along. 
I'm not sure of his motivations, but from what I can tell he has none 
except to survive to the next day. I might even classify him as "simple". 
He always gives me a weird look when I start studying my spells, as if I 
was doing something beneath (or beyond him). Time will tell.

Then there's Mikayla, a low-born woman who looks like she should be farming 
and wenching. Of course, I wouldn't mind getting a little piece of that, 
but it's not like I have a chance. She looks kind of clueless and unsure of 
what to do. My first guess is that she can't read. My tutor always warned 
me to keep my books away from illiterates, because they're as likely to use 
a book as firewood as they would a log. Sorry missy, you're not touching 
this book!

Lastly, we have Tyran. He's just like the bullies that harassed me 
throughout my childhood. Overbearing, cruel, and always telling everyone 
else what to do. Plus he smells. Doesn't the man ever wash? It's this one 
that I need to worry myself most with. Fortunately for me, I have a lot of 
experience with these types, so I know exactly how to handle him. But that 
look he has - piercing and judging - it sometimes makes me feel 
self-conscious. Probably just indigestion.

Shortly after we woke up that morning, we continued our trek along the 
shoreline, avoiding detection and looking for signs to determine our 
location. My clothes were dirty and my belly was grumbling for some fresh 
poached eggs. This was going to be a long day...


----------



## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Ithian's Journal*

*Ithian's Journal - Entry One*

Dear Father-

I know not when I will be able to have this missive delivered to you, for at the time of this writing, I am in the middle of the waste, far to the west, and have no idea when, or if, I will regain proper civilization. I’m sure that by now, word will have reached you of the loss of the vessel which was supposed to have carried me to Prompeldia, and I can only hope that I can cause word to reach you before I am presumed dead.

Our ship was attacked in a most unnatural storm, fired upon and rammed, even, by some force apparently looking for something, or someone, in particular. I know not what or who, because in the confusion of the attack, the good captain forced me aboard a small lifeboat with a pair of merchants and a pair of sailors, and we made our escape. I can only hope that the captain managed to escape, as well, but I fear he may have decided to go the way of the romantic sea-captains of my childhood stories, and gone down with his ship.

As we began our flight from the ship, I happened to notice a woman in the water, who was struggling to keep hold to a shattered spar, so I convinced a pair of rather reticent sailors to bring the boat about and pull the young woman in. From the scars around her wrists as I took her hand to help her aboard, it was obvious that she had been one of the slaves being held in the hold. When the attack first began, I had tried to convince the first mate that leaving the slaves in the hold was wrong, and that they should at least be set free to attempt to swim to safety, as unlikely as that was. I was almost laughed at, if you can believe it…laughed at! And then manhandled into the lifeboat as if I needed to be saved from myself. I think they thought I would try to free them myself. In truth, I considered it.

I know that the tenets of our faith preach acceptance of the events in one’s life, Father, but leaving a person to drown while chained in a ship’s hold, however deserving of the fate of slavery he is, cannot be acceptable. When I saw the woman floating in the water, I knew that she would never survive, and so felt the need to act. As it turns out, there were a number of the ex-slaves clinging to the flotsam and jetsam in the water. Most of them played the drowned rat until their ragtag collection of barrels were secured to the lifeboat, at which time they “revived”. I believe that in their desperation, they meant to try to overtake my small vessel whatever the cost. I may have perhaps saved my own life and the lives of those with me through my own beneficence. I would not have blamed them, had they executed their plan. One must do extreme things, in times where survival is at stake.

While it seemed that I’d earned the slaves favor by saving them, I didn’t trust them for a moment, and so I made sure that the sailors did the rowing, and most of the slaves were forced to expend their energy clinging to the barrels of their makeshift raft, while I conserved my energy, and my swordarm, for the likely confrontation which would occur when we reached land. Well that I did, because within minutes of making land, one of the slaves attempted to strangle one of the sailors with his chains, but my sword persuaded him otherwise. Of all of us, it appeared that only myself and the two sailors were armed, but I felt that until we figured out where we were, and how far to civilization, and whether or not that civilization would be friendly, it was important to find a way to keep peace amongst our ragged band.

Tyran, the chain-wielding would-be assassin, calmed down when I convinced him that the sailor was not among the men who had handled the slaves, and was but a hired sailor for a ship on which the slavers had booked passage. He seemed mollified, but I am sure that if I hadn’t stepped in, he would have killed the sailor, if only for his sword. Again, men will do extreme things when survival is at stake, but I had gotten my lesson. These people were not to be trusted, regardless of whether or not the appeared grateful for their lives.

We all settled into an uneasy truce, with the sailors watching them all as if they would be attacked at any moment, and the two merchants, grossly overweight and still obviously retaining a fair amount of wealth in personal jewelry and their once-fine clothing, both jumped at shadows, and knew it was likely that they would be robbed, and possibly left for dead, by this band, if not for my intercession. I would not them be harmed, but aside from the few gold and silver coins in my belt pouch, and my backpack, which I had managed to get my hands on before we abandoned ship, we were penniless and had no equipment. The merchants’ jewelry would be sold at the first town we found to buy equipment, and hopefully passage to some friendly destination. I saw no need to burden the merchants with this knowledge, however, as they were carrying our wealth for us, and they would be far less tractable if they knew for sure they were going to be robbed.
I spent some time watching the members of our unlikely band, and wondered which would cause dissension, and which would work with me to get us all to safety. Tyran, I suspected, would be one who would be difficult. He seemed a bloodthirsty sort, and I wondered at the reasons he was made a slave. He would never have been a good slave, I think, because he is not the type to be broken to another man’s will. I am surprised that whomever he crossed to end up in chains didn’t kill him outright. That one, I think, isn’t one to let go of a grudge willingly.

Lady Mikayla, a rather fetching lass, is no lady at all, I think. She pretends at affected speech, but the way she bears herself speaks more of the swagger of a man-at-arms, than a noble lady. Indeed, she was quick to anger and did not act the meek damsel in distress at all. 

The halfling woman who clung to Mikayla’s coattails calls herself Marigold, and is obviously lowborn. Her speech and manner show her to be uneducated, but I think her clever. Perhaps pretending to be slow and out of her element, better to have those around her underestimate her. I will keep an eye on that one. Sometimes she moves to well to be a simple halfling woman.

Azoi, a Brandobian, like Tyran, is clearly a learned man, though quiet, and seems to follow Tryan’s lead more often than not, though I d not think that they knew one another before their captivity. He may be following Tryan simply because they are fellow countrymen, or possibly because he has some reason to feat Tyran, and feels it is best to curry his favor.

Jaresh…he is an enigma. A Dejy by look, he moves with a strange grace…almost catlike. I have no doubt that he is a dangerous man, and also seems to take his queues from Tyran. I will have to be careful about the three of them. Even with a sword, three might overwhelm me if taken unawares.

Over the next day, we collected a number of casks and boxes from the ship wreckage which floated ashore, including rope, some well-preserved food, though not much, and a number of odd useful pieces of equipment, foremost of which was a tome of some obviously arcane nature, and it was immediately claimed by Azoi. So that answers that riddle. I’ll definitely have to be wary of the three.


----------



## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Marigold’s Journal*

*Marigold’s Journal - Entry One*

So, how was I taken as a slave? Well, me gold were runnin low. I didn’t want to use me savings, so when one a the other thieves said he had a sweet deal down on the docks and did I want a part, I asked what the part would be. He said 300 gold at the least. Well, acourse I said yes; who wouldn’t? Twink had a good reputation for doin his groundwork, so I thought it would fly. But it didn’t.

When we got on the ship that were the mark, they was waitin fer us. None a us got away I don’t think; I seen Twink and his partner, Jaffer, among the people chained in the hold. I made sure to get the name a the stinker as gave Twink the know about this ship. One day one a us will get home and the gang will take revenge.

The human chained next ta me were nice. She gave me some food and water she had saved for me cause I were still sleepin off the sap ta the head I’d taken in the fight. I’d et worst, but that were a long time gone.

She tole me her name were Mikayla, which were a right pretty name, an I tole her so. Then I tole her me name were Marigold, and we exchanged stories of how we came to be here in the ship, both proper edited acourse.

We were in that stinkin boat a long time. When we was finally taken off, it were straight to a slave market, where Mikayla and I was sold together. I thought we might be, cause not many people think halflings is worth much. They thinks cause we’re small, they can’t get a full day’s work outta us. That may be true for some kinds a work, but there’s lotsa things we can do just as good as humans, and sometimes better. And we’re cheaper to clothe and feed, too. But most humans is stupid; don’t think much past their eyes.

Before I had a chance to get us free, we was loaded onto a new ship, chained into a cramped space with two gnomes, two elves and five other humans. All the tall folk was pretty, cept for one a the men. Two a the humans was already been slaves; ya could tell straight off. But three a them was new-caught, and one a them, the not-pretty one, had real attitude. I knew there would be trouble aplenty ifn he got free, and decided to give him his chance when it would best suit me own purposes.


We sailed for several days. Eventually the humans got to talkin like they allus do. They was wonderin what kind a master had bought em, and what they was meant for. Now, only the Gods and the master knew, but that answer wouldn’t serve me purposes none, sos I tole them that, since most all a them was pretty, we was probly gonna be headed fer a brothel. I says even the one with the attitude would be fer sale, even though he wouldn’t like it much, as there was plenty a men who liked to abuse strong, manly types as they was buggerin em. Then I says in a consoling voice that he weren’t to worry none; such slaves rarely lived long. I thought he were gonna take the ship apart right then and there, and were sure he would give Mikayla and me plenty a distraction to get away when the time were right.

A coupla days later, the weather turned queer. At first I thoughts it were wizard weather and I panicked. A quick beatin brought me back to my senses, and we was all locked down right and tight in our pen. We waited tensely for what seemed like hours, and then heard cannons.

I got outta my shackles right quick and helped Mikayla outta hers. Two a the humans were already free, and helpin the other humans, sos I freed the gnomes and the elves, warnin them all to stay low, though they didn’t all listen.

While I were workin on freein the elves there were suddenly a screamin sound and two holes suddenly appeared in the ship, one on each side. I yelled at everyone ta stay down, cause I heared enough tales in dockside taverns to know we’d been blasted by cannonfire. Not ever one listened though and the next cannon ball took off one a the elves’ heads and put a hole clean through one a the humans’ chests on its way through the ship. Finally people listened to what I were yellin.

Everyone was free from their chains now, but the door were bolted shut. The holes in the ship was big enough to squeeze through, and we was beginnin to take on water so we all went to the side where the pirates wasn’t and looked out. There were lots a wood floatin in the water; two a the masts, boxes and crates, bodies. Everyone started jumpin in, but I can’t swim, so I tried to climb up into one a the little boats. The ship was pitchin too hard and the ropes were too frayed fer me to manage though and I ended up in the water. Mikayla grabbed me and helped me up onto a barrel a water that one a the humans had thrown in.


I looked around and saw the gnomes and two a the other humans clinging to a mast, tying the three barrels together. The elf and the other human weren’t nowheres in sight. After the barrels were tied together, everyone clung to em, and Mikayla noticed one a the little boats nearby. She called out to them and persuaded them to take her and me into the boat, and one a the humans in the little boat managed to tie the barrels to the back, sos the other humans and the gnomes would be safe, too. Two humans, which looked to be sailors, were rowing the boat away from the ship, hopefully to the nearest shore. Aside from the human who helped us and the two sailors there was two other humans who looked to be merchants.

The sailors rowed for what seemed like forever, before the bottom of the little boat scraped against the shore. We all piled out and Mr. Attitude immediately attacked the sailors. Some a the others pulled him off, and Mikayla and the nice human from the little boat, who turned out to be some kind of cleric, persuaded him that the sailors had nothing to do with him being slaves, so he calmed down and stopped his attack.

It weren’t too miserable a night. And in the morning there were lots a things washing up on the tide. We got some weapons from the bodies, as well as some decent clothing. At least, the humans did.

We could see a road in the distance, but Mr. Attitude said it would be dangerous to take it; most likely we would find us slaves again. Sos we followed the shoreline. When it started to get dark we stopped and made a camp. Me and the gnomes collected some crabs and clams and such from the shore and the tidepools so I made a seafood stew with saltwater and some seaweed and such as we found. Never had anything so good and I can’t imagine how much that a meal would have cost back home.

The next few days were all pretty much the same; just walkin and more walkin, and makin enough seafood stew each night to feed us again in the mornin. Humans bein what they be, it weren’t long afore I learnt their names and stories, most of which I think were actually true.


The sailors were just your common seamen. The two merchants wasn’t quite as prosperous as they seemed, I think, but they was alright more or less. The nice human was called Ithian and was headed for some temple or other. He were a nobleborn and a high one too I’d bet what with the color of his hair and eyes and how tall he were and how nice his features. Then there were Azoi, some minor noble with magic who did something typically noble-stupid and got in trouble for it so ended up sold into slavery to pay the fine. Jaresh, like me, were taken by slavers, not legally sold into slavery. It happens, and much more often than common folk think. He had been in a monestary, whatever that is, and had left to spend some time wanderin the world. Sounds hair-brained to me, but he’s quiet and polite and seems nice enough. Then there’s Mikayla, who were runnin with some outlaw band I think, and someone sang a song so she were taken and sold, by the sound of it also illegally, though I’m not sure. Seems she coulda been sold legally, but someone didn’t bother with the formalities, if I’m readin between the lines right. The gnomes, Jorak and Darren, were sold for debts, cause of all the bad years Kalamar has seen lately. Damned Kalamaran nobles! They don’t want to hear it, just see their money. And hey, if everyone’s a slave, then they can collect all the profits, can’t they? The Gods should visit a plague on them!

And then there’s Mr. Attitude. He’s a right dodgy one that Tyran. I believe his tale of treachery, for he tells it with a bitterness that speaks of truth. And though he doesn’t say it, I’ll bet he deserved what he got. He’s pure nasty, through and through, for all he smiles and jokes with the other humans. Want to know what a man is really like? Don’t watch how he treats his superiors or his equals. Watch how he treats those he considers his inferiors. He sneers at the merchants, makes the sailors carry the water all by themselves and he treats the gnomes and me like we ain’t people. He’ll have to be watched like a hawk, he will. Otherwise the gnomes and me, at least, is gonna find ourselves back in chains, as he walks away with his belt pouch jinglin.

***************************************

We saw a small village on the road today. The merchants and sailors want to go there but Tyran said it were too risky. So we’ll keep walkin, though he tole the merchants and sailors they could leave us midday tomorrow and head back. That night we was attacked by kobolds. We kilt a coupla the stinkin vermin, but they kilt Darren. Poor Jorak!


Acourse the sailors and the merchants took the opportunity to run for it. Fools! They woulda been kobold bait for sure. Tyran stopped them, though I’m not exactly sure how. So he stripped them of their pretties and their money. He missed a fair amount a what they had hidden away. Lucky I looked in their clothes afore Tyran gave it back ta them. He wanted to keep their rings, but Mikayla protested. Loud and long. He put it up to a party vote. Me, I aint got nothin against them, sos I didn’t partickly want ta be the cause a them bein enslaved, so I voted to let em keep the rings. Aint like their value were gonna make never no mind a difference. Ithian said to let em keep the rings too, and so they gots ta keep em.

We let em go halfway through the day, just like Tyran promised. He even let them have a little a their money. Ya could tell me thought it was a waste a money though. I think he thinks the kobolds are gonna get em, but I think they gots a chance to make it.

We kept headin east and came to a drab little village on a bay that evenin. Had a dock and everythin, though we found out the bay were too shallow fer the ships to come in. Everythin were traded by longboat.

We stayed the night, got us some clothes and good food as wasn’t from the sea. But we got to have us a bath, and oh! How good that were. They didn’t bring much water, sos Mikayla and I had ta share. Well, I wanted to be clean and enjoy a good long hot soak, sos I used a bit a magic to clean us up. Mikayla has promised not to tell no one just yet that I can do that. After all, it’s not like what I got’s worth gettin excited over. Not unless you’re a thief, anyways.

Tomorrow we’ll head on out again. We’ll have better luck in a larger town, Tyran says.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Campaign Notes*

Greetings!

At this point it may be important to give a little out-of-game information.  The majority of the group were captured near their respective homes and transported to the city of Dowond-Brandel, the capitol of the Theocracy of Pel Brolenon.  Here the characters were sold at auction to a single buyer, strictly by chance.  They were loaded onto the ship _Gentle Breeze_ and they began their journey through the pirate infested Straits of Svimohzia towards the Elos Bay.  Fortunately for our intrepid adventurers, they never made it that far.

As they headed east through the Straits of Svimohzia, past the Whimdol Bay, their ship was attacked by a vicious and reckless group of pirates, who had no apparent concern for capturing the boat in tact.  It was at this point that the characters escaped the ship before it was sunk.  They landed very near the town of Nabamish, but skirted it out of fear on their way to the village of Nojeth.  It was here in the village of Nojeth that they were employed as caravan guards by Malvus the Trader.  Several of the group had concerns as to the nature of his cargo, but no one ever questioned him regarding it.

Well, without further ado, I will return you to the journals.


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## ExDis (May 11, 2003)

*Adventures Beyond the Edge - Jaresh's Journal*

*Jaresh's Journal - Entry Four*

Amazingly, sometime that night the lifeboat found the beach, and its passengers stumbled out onto the sand; those of us relegated to clinging to barrels crawled ashore behind them like exhausted, waterlogged rats. I do not remember anything more from that night, except for this. As I sprawled on the sand, gazing deleriously into the night sky, and listening to the gentle hissing of the surf on the beach, I saw a flickering spot of movement, low to the horizon. It seemed that one of the stars, unlike all of the others, was not content to stay in its place that night. As this star wandered the sky, zigging and zagging from one point to the next, it began to attract other stars, which fell in formation around it. I gradually begin to discern a serpentine shape, like a river of flowing stars, which finally resolved into a sinuous dragon, of the kind found in the far east - I knew of such beasts from my training at the monestary. Faint at first, the star dragon grew and became clearer; it had a body of light, star-scales shining like a thousand diamonds, and the greatest, a piercing blue, for an eye. It twisted across the heavens, as if dancing to celestial music, rushing from one edje of the sky to the other and back again; and then the beach and the sea fell away, along with my exhaustion, and I rose into the sky and became part of the dance. The dragon swirled around me, its body hissing softly against the black velvet sky as its scales twinkled and flashed. For a brief moment, I was tossed in a river of stars, before it twisted away into the night. As I floated in the sky in wonder, I looked further into the stars, and they took on the appearance of a vast, dark wasteland with many small, isolated pockets of activity. The dragon reappeared, bursting into the center of this scene in a tight coil, rapidly unwinding and spreading across my vision, displacing or absorbing all in its path. And then, in a brilliant cascade, all movement ceased, and I was left regarding the night sky; a brilliant blue star shining from its center, while the surf hissed out its soft song. As I drifted into the deep blackness of sleep, I wondered at this omen, for dragons of this nature were reputed to be portents of good fortune to those they favored.

With the coming of morning we were better able to appraise our situation. We were a company of twelve, comprised of the two sailors, the two nobles, the red haired man, the woman, Tyran, myself, another man, two gnomes, and a halfling girl. The sea had brought us small gifts in the night, depositing bits of wreckage on the sand near by. A few small weapons were recovered, as were other basic supplies. The unnamed man was very excited to find a battered and water-stained book; he refused to let anyone else look at it, and spent hours huddled away from the others, poring over its contents. One of the barrels was retained, and put into service carrying drinking water, which the red haired man somehow purified from sea water. The sailors were recruited to carry it.

Our travel was, for the most part, uneventful. We subsisted on shellfish and whatever other sea life that we could capture from the beach, and the water from the barrel. After a few days of walking, we sighted a village of some sort ahead in the distance. The nobles, who Tyran had labeled as merchants, were ecstatic, as were the sailors - salvation, and no more walking! The rest of us, as recently escaped slaves, were rather more dubious about our prospects - no one was interested in being re-enslaved. We made camp out of sight some distance away, and considered what to do. 

It was later that night, while the book man and one of the gnomes were on watch, that strange noises drifted over the dunes - beastial voices! According to the book man, the gnome went to investigate, as he could see in the dark, while the book man roused the rest of the company. A few minutes later, we reached the top of the dune that the gnome had disappeared over, and were shocked to see in the moonlight four humanoid figures, holding glittering swords, leaning over a dark shape lying on the ground. I charged down the dune into their midst, swinging my staff at the one farthest to the left - I heard my companions also making war upon our attackers, but could not spare a look. My staff connected solidly, and the creature's head virtually exploded, showering gore over a surprisingly wide area. This was nothing like training at the monestary! As a glowing point of light flew down from the top of the dune to strike one of the other creatures in the chest, I pivoted and swung at yet another, but my balance was bad, and I missed. Only one creature remained standing, and it fled across the dunes, pursued by the woman. And just like that, it was over. We had lost a companion, but victory was ours.

When we returned to the camp after looting the bodies, the merchants and the sailors were gone - fled into the night. This clearly infuriated Tyran, who ranted loudly and impressively, using complex and inventive curses - the gist of which seemed to be that merchants in general, and these two in particular, were duplicitous, worthless, hapless, spineless wastes of skin and food that could not be trusted out of hand and should be slowly and painfully murdered. Unfortunately for them, they had left a clear trail on their exit, and that moment seemed near at hand. We set after them at once, and recaptured them in short order.

We decided that entering the town presented too much of a risk, to the dispair of the terrified merchants. However, no one particularly wanted to continue to listen to their whining and complaining, or be held back by their slow pace, so a compromise of sorts was reached. We would bypass the town, and release the merchants once we were safely past. They reluctantly agreed, and further agreed to donate their jewelry, and what money they had on their persons, to us in appreciation for their safe passage. Tyran insisted that this include their signet rings, which the book man - whose name was Azoi - said were enchanted. A heated debate broke out at this point, Tyran on one side, and the woman and the red-haired man on the other; eventually the merchants were allowed to retain their rings. We left them on the road the next afternoon, and continued on as they headed back to the village.


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