# The Twilight Paths Campaign (Updated 7/30 - Questions from Above)



## Cinerarium (Apr 12, 2003)

Hi folks!

This story hour chronicles the Twilight Paths campaign, run by rjsmalls in his home-brewed campaign world.  His world's several years old (ask him for more details) but this campaign's only been going on since the end of 2002.  

My character, Goetryn Pater (Tryn for short) is a roguish cleric of Deneir (yes, we're using FR deities -- works out pretty well).  He keeps a journal of his travels, and that's the form these story hours take.  He's also a bit... verbose, and everything written is from his perspective, so the tone of this story hour might be very different from what you're used to.

I hope you enjoy the story hour, and please let me know what you like and what you don't!

Thanks,
Cinerarium


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## Cinerarium (Apr 12, 2003)

*Let it begin*

*The Journals of Goetryn Pater* 
Blessed is Deneir, Lord of Glyphs, who first taught mortals the gift that is writing.  May He look upon this work as a paean to His greatness from His most humble follower, and be pleased.

*Nightal 15, 1361 Demos Reckoning, 4 leagues north of Cymeria* 

Our first night on the road!  Gunnstein and I have set camp for the night with a caravan of the Red Hydra coster on its way to Harren.  We decided to travel with these merchants for mutual protection and companionship, and so far it has proved a wise decision.  Gunn has found a set of gambling partners at one of the fires, and I have found some respite to myself, though I must admit one of the serving girls in the caravan is doing her best to distract me!.

Nevertheless, I must begin to chronicle this journey (and, anyways, she stinks, a sad consequence of life on the road, I suppose).  Now is as good a time as any for reflection, and for peace of mind I must seek it in writing, that blessed gift from our great Lord.

Indeed, the events of the past week are only now beginning to sink in fully.  To be brief and protect the honor of those involved, let me simply say that following a war of words over a girl, one of my rivals beat me within an inch of my life.  The painful bruises are still healing, and I am afraid my nose will forever have a slight bend to it.  My father, Rolg, fearing for my life I think (this was not the first such encounter for me, sad to say), decided to send me to Harren, the Sevencity, for my own protection.  He also sent Gunnstein Hroar, one of his Gordian guards, to protect me.  

I can’t say that I’m not angered at my father’s heavy-handed involvement, as he has been all but absent in my life for the past four years since entering the employ of the Countess Sable.  At the same time though, the open road beckons with all that it offers.  I can either take this as a setback, or an opportunity, and I choose the latter.  Travel will give me a chance to prove myself – to myself most importantly.  I left Cymeria with a clean slate.  My petty rivalries and imbroglios are left behind there, and in Harren I can make a fresh start, or if not there, perhaps in Reynholt or Pell.  

Ah, to someday even return to the Val Hor of my youth!  To study in its libraries and universities!  Some day, when I have some experience and means of my own, I would travel there and search out the Metatext on my own.  But I digress.

So tonight, we camp here.  I leave you, journal, for the morrow.  I am weak, and Lyalle (the aforementioned serving girl) beckons.

*Nightal 18, the Wilds of Luc Valu, North of Cymeria* 

There is much to report, and little to comprehend, dear journal.

This morning our caravan was attacked by horsemen.  The bandits came on us over a hill to the west, and fell swiftly upon the caravan.  In the chaos, Gunn hauled me off the road and into the tree line to the east, and in doing so he possibly saved both our lives.  The merchants quickly surrendered, but instead of looting the caravan outright, the bandits were searching for… us.  

Gunn and I watched as long as we could, while the bandits interrogated the merchants about our whereabouts.  Fortunately we had escaped in the confusion, but even so we decided to head further into the wilds to avoid capture.

I find this development very disturbing.  Why were they looking for us?  I doubt that my rivals would have gone to the point of hiring bandits to hunt me, but whom else could it have been?

Tonight while making camp, Gunn and I talked over our situation.  The Gordian is clearly nervous being so exposed in the wilderness, and feels bound to protect me.  Neither of us wishes to return to Cymeria, as I fear my rivals and Gunnstein my father’s wrath.  Harren seems dangerous for now as well, as presumably whomever knew to send the bandits after us knew that we were bound for the Sevencity.  Gunn mentioned that he knows of possible work to be found in the fishing villages along Lake Harren.  The roads are clear, and the snow light for so late in the year.  The villages seem like a good place to lay low for the time being and see what the new year brings.  We head north and east.

*Nightal 22, East of Lake Harren* 

While setting camp tonight we were ambushed by lizardfolk, horrific humanoid lizards stinking of death.  Four attacked us at dusk, swinging great clubs and screeching for our blood.  Fortunately I had heard them approaching and was able to get off a crossbow bolt at one as it approached.  The three remaining tried to flank us, but Gunn charged and was able to incapacitate one.  As it fell, the other two broke and ran, and my next bolt shot high and missed.  

Now we stay awake and worry that more will be back.  We had heard that these lands were infested with the lizardfolk – the work Gunn talked of getting in the fishing villages was to protect the towns from the incursions of these very creatures.  I fear now that our camp is not safe, and that more will return.  We have decided to make for a large hill to our west, seeking safety in higher ground.  We can only be a few days from the shores of Lake Harren, and hopefully we will be able to see it from there.  First our caravan is attacked, and now our camp!  An evil star has shone on me since leaving Cymeria.  

Goodnight, dear journal, I hope to write in you again.

*Nightal 23, the marshes east of Lake Harren* 

Progress continues to be slow.  We should make the hill tomorrow night.  Our rations run low.  I only hope that if this journal is ever recovered it can be a warning to others: avoid this area on your life.

*Nightal 24 – Hope out of the Darkness?* 

Many events today!  As we made ready to set camp on the western slope of the hill, Gunn and I spotted a motley group of humanoids approaching us – a strange collection of demihumans and foreigners.  I quickly moved off the road, fearing the worst after so many ill meetings in the last tenday.  As they neared the base of the hill, we saw that they were themselves pursued by another group of lizardfolk.  A tense battle ensued as Gunn and I joined forces with the newcomers, and Gunn was nearly killed.  I fear my crossbow bolts were little help, though I did slay one of the beasts.  The creatures even offered us a chance to surrender, but we refused (we?  I hardly know these people), fearing what our fate might be in their clawed hands.  The ensuing battle was the fiercest yet, as the lizardfolk shamans even used spells against us.  By Tymora’s favor on lost causes, we were able to drive them back into the swamps whence they came.

The strangers seem friendly enough, a rare blessing after so many troubles.  They are:

•	Riley, a human from the Freecity of Pell
•	Kazir, an Aradeeti wizard of some kind
•	Pell, a gnome wizard
•	Driade, an elven huntress

For mutual protection, we have decided to band together in the swamp.  This group is out here following a map to an unknown destination.  They were hired by Lordling Matrim of the Hills to follow a map he discovered in a painting of one of his ancestors.  Lordling Matrim, though, perished in their first battle upon entering the swamp.  They buried the Lordling, but decided to continue on his quest and honor his name.  

Further in the swamp, they encountered a leaning monument covered in runes.  Showed these runes, I attempted to translate them.  I have some small skills at this, and deciphered the following information:

_… six sacrifices to seal his slumber… one… blood to awaken him… darkness falls… at dawn. _

The meaning of this is lost on all of us, but it certainly sounds ominous.  It is several hundred years old, but curiously the language appears to be Epalian, a language that should have died thousands of years ago with the Epalian Empire.  If not for a few tomes I saw the language in as an altar boy, I never would have recognized the script.  Even more strange, those who saw it claim the obelisk itself appeared to be much older than the writing, perhaps four to five thousand years old, though how anyone not a dwarf could tell the difference is beyond me.
The runes seem unrelated to the quest at hand, though, however fascinating I may find them.  Our new companions’ map has led them thus far, and they expect to soon approach the intersection indicated on the map.  

A final note lest I forget in slumber.  Kazir’s owl familiar, Zazu, spotted a rider on horseback observing us from a distance.  I am too exhausted to add this rider to our growing list of horrors.  I bid you, dear journal, goodnight.


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## Tellerve (Apr 12, 2003)

*sweet*

Sweet man, good read.  I like the journal entry varitey you've made, and it reads well.  I have to agree with you, the world seems very real and palpable, I'm jealous   Who knows, maybe I'll get a job in the virginia area and come play!

latah,

Tellerve

p.s. MORE UPDATES! haha


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## Cinerarium (Apr 13, 2003)

*Nightal 26, the Tomb of Luvios* 

Where to begin, my dear journal?  As you can see, some blood has fallen on these pages recently, and a sad tale is in the telling.

Yesterday we followed the map to a hillock covered in black roses, strangely abloom for so late in the year.  A door in the hill was covered with magical sigils that Pell identified as belonging to Luvios, a long-dead archmage.  The door was jammed shut with age and rot, but the plucky gnome managed to wrest it open while the rest of us were debating how to.  With great trepidation we entered the tomb.  

After descending into the bowels of the earth, our entry tunnel emerged into a foyer adorned with old casks, a couch, but most notably a number of corpses, long decayed.  Someone spotted the claws of a large creature under the couch, but it never disturbed us.

Three of the corpses were arrayed with the burial rites of Our Lady of Luck, Tymora.  Gunn disturbed the bodies, and I fear for his fortune.  Have I mentioned that Gunn lacks all sense of tact and respect?  I know many would expect no less from a Gordian, but I refuse to believe that his uncouth behavior is given to him merely by his birth.  Alas, I digress!  My nerves are shot and my mood black.

Driade was able to identify the tracks of several people moving into the next chamber, and then one person’s boot tracks running in the opposite direction, pursued by a humanoid with enormous feet.  The runner passed down the western hall, and fell into a pit trap there.  On the corpse we found the artifacts of Lordling Matrim’s ancestor, a shield bearing the Hills heraldry, and an enchanted sword.

We followed the footprints further into the tomb, and encountered nothing but more skeletons and rotted books.  Sadly, none of the tomes were in a state that could be recovered.

Finally, at the end of a long hallway, Riley opened a door and found himself face to face with a huge creature sewn together from the flesh of corpses.  He turned and retreated past us down the hallway.  Gunn ran in to fight the beast and was quickly pummeled.  Fast thinking by the rest of the party led to the beast’s defeat, but after several injuries.

Riley again opened the door to the next room, and found himself this time facing the undead!  Several of the slavering abominations, their rotting tongues lolling over ancient fangs, turned at the sound.  Riley bravely tumbled into the room amidst the ghouls.  In horror, I saw them all turn their fanged maws his way.  Before any of us could get to him, he was eaten alive by the ghoulish creatures!  I shall be haunted by the image of his demise, eaten alive, his mouth paralyzed in a silent scream as his throat was ripped open by the unhallowed fangs of ghouls.

In the ensuing fight, I and the majority of the group fought bravely but ultimately fell.  Pell alone stood against the remaining creatures, and was able to single-handedly defeat them!  The small gnome proved huge in battle, and were it not for him we would all have faced Riley’s gruesome fate.

In my unconscious state, I drifted for some time before finding myself walking in a dimly lit library.  This library contained an impossible number of books and scrolls, though I could only reach the closest at hand.  I felt myself drawn to a scroll lying open on a candlelit table.  As I picked up the scroll, the glyphs blazed with light, and a purely ecstatic feeling flooded my being.  I felt in contact with Deneir.  He had chosen me to be one of His agents on Ostia Prim!  My great Lord has blessed me so!  When I awoke, I knew I had the power to pray for magical boons as His loyal servant.  

Unfortunately my first use of these boons was to bless the body of our comrade Riley.  I hardly knew him, but he was a courageous and knowledgeable man.  I mourn his loss.

We will stay in the tomb and heal, as it seems safe here.

I would be remiss in my duties if I did not report on a few of the contents of the tomb besides the undead.  Amongst the old mage’s belongings we have recovered a few tomes, namely An Account of the Formation of Leaf Enclave, Red Randall’s Stonetooth Expedition (a set of memoirs not unlike these), and Dobyn the Short’s Essay on Conjuration.  This last, Pell tells me, is magical and he intends to study it further.  The other two tomes I have retained for my own study.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 13, 2003)

*Tellerve?*

Hey Twilight Path Followers!

Everybody in rjsmalls' campaign might wonder what Tellerve's connection is to me.  Tellerve was in my campaign waaay back in high school, and we're still best buds and play whenever we're in town together to this day.  Despite his comments about drow females over on Piratecat's story hour, he's a really good guy, and one of the best all around D&D/roleplayers I know.


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## Tellerve (Apr 13, 2003)

*well....*

I dunno, I'm going to stick to my guns about the drow thing.  I guess I just never wanted them to be as depraved as they should be so as such they are more just sexy and evil in a good way.  Err, *sigh*, probably gone too far again!

Good stuff Cinerarium!  woohoo, I ask for an update and I got one...now that rocks.  I'm going to try my luck again and ask for another update.  BTW, I really am enjoying the writing style, although I am not surprised of course.  From hearing you speak about the campaign it sounds like an excellent tapestry to paint.  And of course I know first hand your artestry with words and story, huzzah!!!

Oh, and thanks for the compliments,

Tellerve


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## RJSmalls (Apr 13, 2003)

*Well struck, Tryn!*

I find two things very ironic:

1) I find myself reading your story with a sense of anticipation, even though I already know how certain plot threads turn out.  And,

2) The game sessions we've had seem to be more richly detailed and personal on the pages of your journal than they did around the table.

The first I can chalk up to a weak memory, but the second simply must mean you're a better writer than I am DM.  I can only hope the the campaign continues to improve so as to better equal the great writing within your journals.

I know that I normally don't delve into Story Hour's on the site until there's at least a dozen or so up-dates.  Helps to give me a better idea whether it's a tale I'd like to follow or not.  Thus, I'll echo Tell's request and ask that you upload some more pages during your first free moment!  

Vaclava,
Smalls


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## derimos (Apr 14, 2003)

*the stuff of legends*

dude.

love the journal. tell you dm to get on with the game so we can hear more about this particular rogue-y divine agent of ohnier.


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## Tellerve (Apr 14, 2003)

*grr*

Almost the whole Sunday has passed at yet not an update!  You dare to anger the story board gods Cinerarium?!  

Seriously though, I know you have plenty more as your at least a good couple posts behind the actual campaign from what you've told me over chat sessions.  So get going!  

Good stuff good stuff!!

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Apr 14, 2003)

Ok, ok!

I should get in the next post tonight!

And I'll throw out some props for derimos as well -- another one of my best buds (was the best man at my wedding as well) from back in the day.  Another sick role player as well.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 15, 2003)

*Nightal 27* 

We are out of that tomb, thank the gods, but not after spending much of our rest time yesterday bickering over what to do next.  I am for returning to the Hills estate and telling the tale of Matrim’s death to his family.  Others, Gunn in particular, are opposed.  But they have come to reason and have dropped their objections for the time being.  I fear, though, that Gunn and I have not been told all there is to know about the group’s contract with Lordling Matrim, and the state of affairs when they left the Hills estate.

We emerged from the tomb this morning and ran into a curious wood elf and his canine companion.  This elf, Fineon, claimed he was wandering in this swamp of death when he saw us from a distance.  He proceeded to follow us, and when we entered the barrow mound, waited for us on the surface.  One wonders how much longer he would have waited.

At any rate, he seems like a decent fellow, and any aid in a time such as this is welcome.  I have noticed certain tokens on him that indicate he may be a priest as well as a fighter.  I would like to talk with him and find out more about him.  For the time being he has offered to guide us swiftly out of the swamp and back to the Hills estate.

*Nightal 30, the Road to Purseton* 

A great deal has passed in the last two days!  And I know little of what it portends.

A short way from the Hills estate we were intercepted by a group of several horsemen bearing the Hills arms on their tabards.  They treated us well and escorted us to the estate itself, a motte and bailey keep above a small town.  Again we were treated very well, and left to bathe in private rooms before an audience with Lord Byron himself.  The others showed a great deal of trepidation concerning the audience.  I still could not convince myself that Lord Byron would wish us ill for the death of his son, as it was wholly beyond our control.  At any rate, the bath was very welcome and I finally felt human and decent again after so long in the field.

On our way to the great hall, Kazir and I decided to let Kazir speak, as he and not I had been involved in the original contract.  I had some misgiving about letting the Aradeeti speak, as I am better acquainted with the social graces of courtly life in Luc Valu.  He was the best among Matrim’s companions, however, and at any rate Kazir conveyed himself well, considering the surprises we were to face.

First, Lord Byron was completely healthy.  From what I had heard, he had been suffering a war wound for the last two decades and distrusted all clerical healing.  The Lord Byron confronting us, however, was hale and hearty for his age.  He began by pronouncing us the “heroes who saved his son Matrim’s life.”  We were shocked, though I held my cool.  Matrim was dead and buried according to the reports of my comrades.  What game was Hills playing?  And over the life of his son, no less?

At this point I noticed the chancellor (later revealed to be named Drummel) at Hills’s elbow, an elderly man who only whispered in Lord Byron’s ear as we approached.  Drummel was clothed in black robes, and was more ancient than any man I had seen before.  Lord Byron went on to thank us for saving his son, examined our contract, took the enchanted sword of his ancestor’s as Lordling Matrim’s share of the treasure, and bought the shield as well.  He invited us to a feast that evening, and sent us to collect our booty in the treasury.

Still unsure of what to make of these events, we proceeded to the treasury in the dungeons of the keep.  En route, I heard a woman wailing out Matrim’s name, abruptly silenced.  Could it have been Lady Bryntala, wife of Lord Byron, wailing?  I had heard rumors that the Lady had lived in seclusion in the keep ever since Lord Byron’s brother died in the same battle that wounded Byron.  The common explanation for her seclusion was that she and Byron’s brother had been lovers, and she was in mourning.  The cry I heard certainly sounded like the wail of a mourner – but the wail of a mother for her son, not of a lover.

We were not able to investigate further, as we were upon the treasury itself.  The guard spoke a password – “Morning Dove” in Valusian – and the door opened.  They gave us our reward, and we retired to my chamber to discuss the events.

Our discussions led nowhere, however.  Last the group had seen, Lordling Matrim was under a cairn of stones in the swamp, quite dead.  Also, Lord Byron was crippled.  How did the pieces fit?  The only new piece of the puzzle was the appearance of Chancellor Drummel.  We agreed to attend the feast, and I left to gather more information if possible.  My inquiries got me little but a bottle of Gryphon Hills wine and a lewd advance from the elderly mistress of the kitchens, and so I met up with the party before the feast.  

The feast itself was quite boring, and there was little opportunity to gather information.  Lord Byron and his chancellor left before I had a chance to speak with them.  Attempting to get any more information possible, Fineon and I approached Lordling Lenardo, Lord Byron’s eldest son.  Fineon was in possession of a flask of Arn brandy, and we guessed that Lenardo would appreciate the expensive drink.  He did indeed, though already deep in his cups, and challenged Fineon to a game of blood dice.  

As an aside, should this journal ever be read in lands where blood dice is not popular, I shall endeavor to explain the rules of the game.  It is quite simple.  Two players roll a single die each.  Whoever gets the higher result may throw a dagger at the loser.  The game continues usually to first blood, sometimes to unconsciousness or death.  I’d heard of the game being played in certain taverns along Cymeria’s wharves, but I’d never thought to find it here, in a house of nobility.

Fineon refused to play, angering Lenardo, and I stepped in his stead to cool the Lordling’s blood.  Pell was chosen as Lenardo’s second, as it would be a crime to throw a dagger at the Lordling himself.  I won the first two tosses, and intentionally missed.  Lenardo’s anger grew.  On the third toss, Lenardo won, and threw a dagger at me, badly missing.  In his anger, he stabbed at me, missing repeatedly in his drunkenness before finally wounding me.  Though the wound was grievous, I faked unconsciousness, hoping to end the duel and give some honor to the Lordling.  Apparently, my bluff was unsuccessful, and Lenardo ordered Fineon and me thrown into the dungeon.  Pell was able to distract the Lordling long enough for Sir Gorful, Hills’s master at arms, to break up the commotion.  

Lenardo left for his chambers, backing down in the face of Gorful’s calmness, and Sir Gorful convinced us that we should leave as well, or face Lenardo’s wrath in the morning.  Sir Gorful also told us of how the chancellor had arrived only a few days before, bearing a wounded Lordling Matrim.  Since that time, Matrim had not been seen, nor had the guards who helped Matrim to his room.  The chancellor, apparently a priest of Oghma, healed Lord Byron and was accepted as his trusted advisor.

I wrote a quick letter to the chancellor, telling him of our status but not mentioning Matrim’s death.  I included the fact that we would be staying in the Sevencity should he wish to contact us.  

We departed the Hills estate in the darkness and headed to Purseton, hoping to gain as much distance before dawn as possible.  Several hours out of the estate, we were stopped in the road by hobgoblin brigands, who denied our passage.  A fight ensued that we handily won, and we captured two of the bandits.  Interrogating them later, we found they had been hired by an old, thin woman in brown and black robes, and paid with old coins.  They had been hired to stop us from passing, and had been working for some time guarding the road and attacking other caravans along the way.  We let the two go, upon which the leader came back to us under a sign of peace.  He said that we did better by him than he would have in our place, and was grateful.  He introduced himself as Steel Jack, and let us know that we could count on him for information of this area if we ever needed it.  He also let us know that the woman was not alone, that she was in fact accompanied by an old man fitting Chancellor Drummel’s description, and a very odiferous young man.  They talked about four friends of theirs who were looking for something in the library of Oghma in the Sevencity.  The layers of riddles increase!  Perhaps I should not have left the letter for the chancellor.  Time will punish our mistakes, I am sure.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 15, 2003)

*Update Schedule*

Hi folks --

You might've guessed that I've got a number of our adventures written up already, so I'll do my best to get one update a day done until I catch up to where we currently are in the campaign.  This last update was from page 8 of 46 in my journal so far... and that doesn't include the latest session.  So in a couple of weeks I should be all caught up.

Please, if you've got any feedback on this stuff, I'd love to hear it.

Cinamerarrium


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## Tellerve (Apr 15, 2003)

Yeah, an update!  8 out of 46 entries, really? SWEET!

So how much did you not want to write the letter to the "wormtongue" character or did you really and just later think it was a bad idea?  I guess my silly playernes would have come in when I saw a guy in black robes whispering to the newly healed lord.

Good stuff, looking forward to the next update!

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Apr 15, 2003)

Tellerve said:
			
		

> *So how much did you not want to write the letter to the "wormtongue" character or did you really and just later think it was a bad idea?  I guess my silly playernes would have come in when I saw a guy in black robes whispering to the newly healed lord.
> 
> Tellerve *




Well, I'm trying to play Tryn as a somewhat naive 19 year old.  He's been on the streets for long enough to be somewhat cynical, but he's pretty trusting of his priesthood and that of Oghma.  When he heard that Drummel (I always picture Mr. Drummond from Different Strokes) was a cleric of Oghma, he figured it was ok to ask for help, since Oghma is pretty much Deneir's boss.

Now that he thinks he got burnt with the letter to Drummel (by the hobgoblins, and more later...) he's growing up, quick.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 16, 2003)

*A Brief Interlude*

*Hammer 1, 1362 Demos Reckoning, Purseton* 

We finally made it to Purseton, and have acquired transportation to Harren.  Hopefully these riddles will resolve themselves soon.  The new year brings little hope.

*Hammer 1, Harren* 

We have arrived in Harren with the evening tide!  I slept a few fitful hours on the ferry, my dreams plagued with the memory of Riley’s death.  How long will his tragic end haunt me?

On a more pleasant note, it is good to be in a city again, though my fears have followed me here.  The bandit attack on Gunnstein’s and my caravan so long ago (only a few weeks!) is hard to forget.  

Pell and Kazir managed to completely decipher the obelisk runes using magic.  They are indeed written in the dead tongue of the Epalian Empire, now long since turned to dust since the fall of Epth a’Non in Kazir’s homeland.  A correct version (it seems I may have embellished in the translation) reads thusly:

_…hunted until nearly all were lost.  Thus did the Twin Evils lean forward unto the lands of Men and whisper of their Coming.  The Gul-Drimm were heartened by the promise of What Would Come and thus… sunken and buried in the realms betwixt life and death… the blood of Heroes to awaken the Hexan… to reign….  _ 

Contrast this with my original translation, included here for ease of reference:

_…six sacrifices to seal his slumber… one… blood to awaken him… darkness falls… at dawn. _ 

I find it hard to doubt the magical skills of my companions, but I’m nonetheless surprised my translation was so poor.  I must study Epalian further if time permits.

In fact, now that we are in Harren I believe I will myself go to the Library of Oghma to research the Gul-Drimm and Hexan further.  The Twin Evils mentioned may be Bane and Bhaal, as those dark gods are often seen as twins.  I shall stop by the library tonight before retiring to Happy Harlan’s where the rest of the party is staying.

*Hammer 1, at Happy Harlan’s* 

Ah journal, I’m not sure what to make of what I discovered today.  Most of the research at the library was basic research considering the great ages of Ostia Prim; perhaps in the morning I will discover more. 

Nearly as exciting is the library itself!  So many tomes in one place, preserved lovingly by the Binder’s faithful.  I feel a twinge of guilt that I have not yet visited the temple of Deneir here in the Sevencity.  I must do so as soon as possible.


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## RJSmalls (Apr 16, 2003)

*Gratuitous Game World Info*

I'll try to post relevant game world information from time to time that may help folks reading Tryn's journals better follow the action (especially as the party begins to travel more frequently and further distances).

As the journal stands, the group is within Harren, a large city of the Queendom of Luc Valu.  Tryn himself is from Cymeria, a port also within Luc Valu.  The following information has been pulled from our campaign's glossary, which grows larger by the moment and is now a heavy and cumbersome as a house.

-----------------

*Harren* – _The Sevencity_ -  Harren is one of the largest cities within the Luc Valusian Kingdom, falling behind only Reynholt and Cymeria in population size, and slightly larger than its Twin City of Lor.  Harren is the seat of the Duchy of Harren, currently (1362 DR) ruled by Duke Harabald de Harren.  Harren is comprised of seven wards and seven Great Temples, hence the name Sevencity.  A portion of the city exists on the eastern shore of the River Purse.  The Duchy controls all lands, including the shores of Lake Harren, for approximately 60 miles around the capitol city itself.  Harren is held by Harabald, sworn liegeman to Alisandre, in the name of the Queen.

* Cymeria, County of* – A sprawling county surrounding the massive port of Cymeria, sandwiched between the Lun Brun mountain range and the waters of the Gods’ Bowl.  The port of many privateers, smugglers, and other sailors who prey upon Apian shipping under legal recognition provided by Cymerian Countess in Letters of Marque.  Cymeria is held by the Countess Sable in the name of the Luc Valusian Queen.


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## RJSmalls (Apr 16, 2003)

*Overview of Luc Valu*

_...a page ripped from the Valusian PHB briefly detailing the Luc Valusian Queendom._


*LUC VALU*

Geography:  Luc Valu consists of all lands south of the Jaspar River on the Valusian Isle, including the massive and unequalled Apian-built stronghold of Mon Mith, the Cor Brunfe – a mountain range consisting of peaks only rivaled by those in The Rorn and Gordia, both the uninhabited islands Grun Prim and Grun Min, and the wild forests of the Bight.

Politics:  Luc Valu, including the stronghold of Mon Mith captured in war from the Apian Empire, is ruled by Queen Alisandre in Reynholt.  The only regions not under her rule include the mountains of Cor Brunfe, ruled by the independent Dwarven King Maegor the Cruel, the Free City of Pell ruled by the elected Merchant Prince Oli Mim, and both Grun Prim and Grun Min which are the home to a secretive and powerful druidic cult.  The Queendom of Luc Valu consists of the twin duchies of Loch Harren and Loch Lor, ruled by their respective Twin-Dukes Harbald and Loragan in the name of the Queen, the County of Cymeria ruled by Countess Sable in the Queen’s name, and Mon Mith ruled by Governor Margeld who was appointed by the Queen.

Peoples:  The humans of Luc Valu are difficult to distinguish from their northern cousins in Hor Valu.  All are rumored to have originated and migrated from the ancient and now-disappeared Empire of Valudia.  Luc Valusians are normally somewhat shorter than Hor Valusians, averaging around 5’10” in height, and somewhat darker in coloring with brown hair and eyes.  The dwarves of Cor Brunfe are larger than other dwarven peoples and stand nearly five feet in height.

Areas of Interest:  Grun Prim and Grun Min are two islands mostly uninhabited by the home to a mysterious druidic cult of unknown origin or beliefs.  Fishwives Sound and Castamere Bay offer some of the best fishing within Valusia.  The Bight is the home of many gigantic beasts not found anywhere else within Valusia.

Popular Exports:  Cloudtrees, only found within the Bight, are the tallest trees within Valusia and are prized by shipwrights and architects above any other lumber.  When magically frozen, the fish of the eastern coast of Luc Valu are considered a delicacy of the rich upon the mainland.  The dwarves of Cor Brunfe do a brisk trade with all kingdoms for her unparalleled armor and weaponry fashioned by King Maegor’s dwarves.

Climate:  Luc Valu sees all four seasons, though her winters are milder and last only three months.  Cor Brunfe is the exception, as the taller mountains are snow-covered throughout the year.  The Bight, despite its name, is one of the most heavily forested regions of Valusia with impenetrable, primeval woods of cloudtrees, soldier pines, and giant oaks.

Military History:  In 1361 DR the stronghold of Mon Mith, a architectural marvel of military construction, was captured from the Apian Empire by the soldiers of Luc Valu (with invaluable assistance of dwarven miners from King Maegor’s people) under the shared an mistrustful leadership of the Twin-Dukes.  Luc Valu has been at war with Hor Valu numerous times, but the most recent pitched battle was fought nearly thirty winters past on the shores of the Bluehorn.  Queen Alisandre’s father, King Demond, was slain and his visions of a united Valusian Isle died with him.  The Twin-Dukes of Loch Harren and Loch Lor share a hatred of one another dating to an unknown occurrence during their childhood in Reynholt.  Despite Queen Alisandre’s attempts to reconcile them, they maintain an open disgust of one another.  The shores of the River Purse are often red with the blood of Harren and Lor warriors who chance to encounter one another between the duchies.  The Free City of Pell has basked under a peace for nearly two hundred winters, but is a fount of illegitimate thieving guilds and is known for harboring the Faceless Men, a sect of religious assassins feared throughout Valusia.  The dwarves of King Maegor the Cruel have not engaged in open warfare other than assisting Luc Valu’s siege of Mon Mith for reportedly vast sums of money from the treasury of Reynholt.  The Countess of Cymeria has written extensive Letters of Marque legalizing pirates to prey on Apian shipping under the flag of Luc Valu.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 17, 2003)

*Hammer 2, Harren* 
At this rate, dear journal, I may have to buy another journal soon!  So much happens in so short a time!

This morning I rose early, and after bathing and shaving (I must admit to also spending some time flirting with one of the maids at the bath, but only that; I did not dally long) I proceeded back to the Library.  After signing in and removing any items that could damage the treasure of the Library, I proceeded deeper into the stacks, down to the fourth level, where the air was so close that my breath and that of my Oghmite minder was the only force stirring it.  For many hours we toiled in the depths, searching the tomes for any pieces of information, no matter how minute.  We broke for lunch only briefly, and returned at once to our search.  I shall include the transcript of what we discovered directly.

The following excerpt was found in the relatively popular _History of the Ages_ , author unknown, and provides a brief synopsis of the first three Ages upon Ostia Prim.  After the Age of Heroes came the Ages of Darkness, Forests, Iron, and the current Age - Empires.



> *The Age of Birthings*
> 
> The First God, called the Primus, was Saficea.  He bore the two sons Genn and Jann.  For countless ages there was a peaceful silence, but soon  Saficea granted the Knowledge of Time to his sons, and with that knowledge his sons learned Ambition.  They fought, despite their father's attempt to halt them, and Jann was slain, his body greatly reduced by the battle with his brother, and he collapsed onto Ostia Prim and his corpse became the Valusian Isle.
> 
> ...




_To be continued..._


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## Tellerve (Apr 18, 2003)

*grumble grumble goes my tummy*-the great Story Hour God

Feed the beast, feed it!  

Tellerve

p.s. I'll probably email you too Cinerarium, but I'll be in the DC area next weekend and if your group is playing maybe I can get in as a special guest for a session!


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## Cinerarium (Apr 18, 2003)

*Hammer 2, Harren, Continued* 

The following is culled from the _Black Bishop's Compendium – A Recounting of the Fading Away_.  The author was supposedly one of Bane's priests prior to the Age of Darkness, but that has never been substantiated.  Unfortunately, this book is in poor shape – partially burned, torn, and covered with an old fungus that the Oghmites have endeavored to remove only somewhat successfully.



> ...the Oceans and the Drimm sprang from Saficea's tears upon his sons' death...were nearly hunted to extinction by various Heroes, and only a handful survived until the twilight of that Age.  The Dark Father informed those of the True Faith...must be protected...their dying...him in the next Age...taken to the four corners of Ostia Prim and their bodies hidden by the faithful...be the Key, and the rest drank wyvern's poison and thus passed onward...the glade wherein the Twin Evils were destined to first set foot...buried by those newcomers...slumber until the Dark Father and...misfortune struck and the Twins were defeated by disbelievers.
> 
> The Keys were never awakened, and their slumber...day.




Finally, there is one snippet recorded by a monk of Ilmater in his _Memoirs_, though his name or heritage remain a mystery.



> …thus do I name the six – Ember Wind, Twilight Falling...Black Harvest, and the Boiling Plague… each their own specialty… may Ostia Prim pray they never Awake.




The first reference from the History of the Ages details the coming of the Twin Evils to settle the war between the gods.  The second reference from the Black Bishop’s Compendium (I am chilled just recalling that foul libram) reveals the creation of the Drimm, born from the Primus’s tears along with the oceans of the world.  The Compendium also mentions something occurring in the next age; I can only assume this references the age following the Age of Heroes – the Age of Darkness.  What the Key is, who drank the wyvern’s poison, etc. I cannot tell.  

Most interesting to me is the reference in the Memoirs of the Ilmater monk, who refers to Six harbingers of doom who slumber still… which leads me to believe that perhaps my original translation of the obelisk runes, referring to six sacrifices to “seal his slumber” may have not been far from the mark, after all.  I think I must learn more Epalian at the first opportunity.  Part of my research in the library today was in Epalian, completely unrelated to the rest of the research on its face, but I hope it will provide clues nonetheless.

For now, dear journal, I lay you to rest until later this evening, and retire for supper with my strange friends of the last tenday.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 18, 2003)

*Yep, I'm a bum*

Sorry folks for skipping yesterday's posting.  The above can be yesterday's, and I'll post another one for today right away.

I can't post this weekend, but expect the posts to continue on Monday.

And Tellerve -- we normally play on Tuesdays, but if RJ reads this I'd ask him to consider.  You better stop by my house though!


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## Cinerarium (Apr 18, 2003)

*Hammer 2, Happy Harlan’s* 

Kazir and I talked over supper about the meaning of the research I have done.  The rest of the group is intrigued as well, though we found little solid enough to use at present.  In that way, I hope that this journal may be our guide, to help solve the mystery of what we are uncovering, that the knowledge of whatever evil this concerns may be spread out into the open, that it may never happen again, if the gods be willing.

My news, however, was little compared to what Fineon uncovered.  He scoured the docks and gates looking for information concerning those people Steel Jack reported being involved with the Library here in Harren, who had also hired him to waylay us.  Fineon met a half-elf on the docks, one Avoril d’Lantern.  Avoril claimed to have witnessed two elderly humans, one male and one female, dressed in black robes, dumping the body of an Oghmite beneath the docks.  Fineon found the body beneath the docks, badly eaten by purse crabs but still wearing the robes and sandals of an Oghmite priest.  Fineon examined the body and found a tattoo of the name “Jenly”, and also the killing wound, a stab to the chest.

Fineon returned to Happy Harlan’s to inform us of what he had found.  Before we could pursue the matter, Hara, the proprietor of Happy Harlan’s came to our table.  It seems many mercenaries and blades for hire work out of Harlan’s, and my companions had done some work from there in the past themselves.  Hara knew of their reputation, and asked us for a favor, offering free room for a month in exchange.  A local woman, Marigold Thatch, has been searching for her missing son, whom she thinks disappeared into the sewers.  Hara let us know that this Ms Thatch was waiting outside of Harlan’s asking anyone who would listen for help.  I vaguely recalled noticing a woman outside when I entered, but she was rather homely and I paid her no heed.

Upon hearing Hara’s story of the woman, and realizing there was little we could do tonight about our own problems, we decided to see if we could help Ms Thatch.  I quickly found her outside the taproom and invited her to join us and tell her tale of woe.  She is a Lorrie – that is, a native of Loch Lor, Harren’s hated enemy across the River Purse.  As such, most passers by glared or spat in her direction if they noticed her at all.  I immediately pitied the woman, especially considering the loss of her son.  Promising to at least give her a meal and an attentive ear, I convinced her to come inside.

What I thought was a sad story of a lost, scared child in the sewers beneath the Sevencity quickly turned out to sound more like a gang-related fight.  Marigold’s son Opulio is grown up – at least my age.  He was in an alley with some others when a fight ensued.  When Marigold went to check on him, he was gone, and a nearby sewer grating lay open.

Feeling some misgivings about this woman and her plight, as it seemed clear her son had been involved with some shady characters and may have deserved his fate, we nevertheless decided to pursue the matter, at least temporarily, and after paying Hara for the food, let Marigold lead us towards the place her son disappeared.

On the way, Marigold Thatch received a variety of reactions from passerby, ranging from mild contempt to spittle flung in her direction.  There are many things in this world I do not understand, and this widespread enmity between Lorrie and Harrie is one of them.  Both are citizens of the same Queen, and yet mutual hatred runs deep.  Oh, I understand the politics behind the quarrel, I think, but cannot condone the violence that manifests as a result.  At the risk of being a bigot myself, both sides have shown themselves to be petty to anyone a stranger.  Perhaps, living so much of my life in Cymeria, and being taunted for my Val Hor heritage, I am extra sensitive to this issue.  Perhaps as well, my experiences at the docks with my father, as he did his work for the Countess, gave me a perspective on the world that differs from these provincial-minded folk.  I was lucky enough to meet sailors from all over Ostia Prim – and truth be told the stories they told of the world and the diversity it harbored were one of the reasons I relished the opportunity to leave Cymeria when my father presented it.

But again, dear journal, I digress from the plot at hand.  As we were on our way to Marigold’s mysterious sewer entrance, the sky grew darker overhead and the chill snow fell about our group.  A few tradesmen drew near, likely on their way to a pub.  Seeing Marigold in our company, one of the elder tradesmen spoke.  

“Beware her!  She be not telling you truth!  I seen her with several groups such as yourself, and never were those groups seen again!”

“Be gone!” Marigold exclaimed, spitting in the slush at the foot of the elder tradesman, and storming off.

Kazir and I exchanged a glance, and seeing Marigold swiftly trundling away, followed after her with the rest of our group.  Driade slipped off from the back of our group, returning a few minutes later as we made our way to Marigold’s destination.  Motioning for us to fall back, we let Marigold move on ahead several paces, that Driade could speak in private to us.

“I spoke with those _men,_” the elf whispered.  “They all claim that Marigold Thatch has been seen several times over the last tenday, with groups composed of folk such as ourselves.  Those groups were never seen again, and the men think Marigold took them to their deaths.  I, for one, believe them,” said Driade with a dark look at our guide’s back.

Just as I was about to speak, Kazir, who to this point had been staring into space, contemplating this news, spoke instead.  “That may be, friend Driade.  We shall be cautious.  But I am still most curious to discover more of this story.”

I nodded in agreement with the Aradeeti.  “I agree with Kazir, but thank you for your caution, Driade, in following up on this lead.  We’re in no danger now, and Hara asked us to help if we can.  I’d like to have a friend in the Sevencity, and if helping Marigold will endear us to Hara, I’m willing to do it.  So let’s follow Marigold for now, see what we can discover, and talk it over back at Hara’s after we find out where she’s leading us.  Agreed?”  

At this compromise, the group signaled agreement, and we hastened to close the space between us and Marigold.  Presently we arrived at our destination, an alley across from Mort’s Potatoes and Ale.  In the back of the alley, concealed by broken crates and other refuse, Marigold showed us what indeed appeared to be an entrance to the sewers.  The dark maw opened in the cobblestone of the alley, and a stench-filled steam slowly boiled forth from the hole, like breath from an unconscious drunkard.

By this time the streets were growing quite dark.  “Marigold,” said I, “thank you for showing us here.  We hope we can help you find your son.  Is there anything else you can tell us about his disappearance?”

“Tell me first, will ye help me?  And don’t ye be list’ning to the tripe o’ those old codgers now.  They always been hatin’ me an’ my boy, just cause we be Lorries.  Why, if his father, curse his pox-ridden soul, were still alive today… well, anyways, will ye be helping me?”

I hope I did not hesitate too long before replying.  I wanted to make sure she did not doubt my sincerity, though I was still not convinced that she meant us no harm.  After the events of the past few days, I hope any readers of this journal will forgive my mild paranoia.  “Ms Thatch, we would like to help you.  Of course, it is too late tonight, and we must prepare before delving into what could be such a dangerous area as this.  We would like to come back tomorrow, at which point we will do what we can.  That is, if you will answer us truthfully: are we the first group you have asked for help?”

Marigold looked sheepish and like a child momentarily, shuffling her feet in the refuse of the alley – oddly endearing from such an otherwise repugnant matron.  “No, well, no, you’re not the first, no.  The others said they’d help, but I ain’t never seen them since.  But you’ve shown me the most kindness of any o’ them, who’d just as soon spit at me as help me.  I’ve got here some paper I found nearby, not long ago, when I was a-waiting here for Opulio, praying he’d come back.  I dinna understand them mysel’, never having learned my letters none.”  She offered up a dirty scrap of parchment, with what looked like a crude map and writing.  

Gunn and Fineon looked at the writing, and failed to understand its intent, but I was able to puzzle my way through some of the scratchy runes.  The map itself looked like it could be a map of the sewers, with a few runes scratched to indicate notes on different areas.  The writing I took to mean this, to the extent I could understand it:



> Went down through grate as usual.  Best place because it’s hidden.  Labeled where [a person’s name – Derstin?] died – be wary!  Also had close call with guard house.  It’s labeled.  To 2nd level where water drips in pool.




Some of that was pure guesswork on my part.  I also think I deciphered some of the rooms on the map to indicate where the person died, a room labeled with the word “Slime,” and the letters “GH,” presumably indicating the guard house.

“Thank you, Marigold, this may help us a great deal,” I said sincerely.  “We shall return tomorrow to see what we can find.  Where can we contact you if we need to?”  Marigold gave us the addresses of a number of butcheries on Opulio Street (apparently the namesake of her son, for reasons best left to the imagination) where she worked at night, cleaning.  We thanked her, and bid her goodnight.  Driade followed her to confirm the story of where she worked, and met us back at Happy Harlan’s later.

After some discussion over a nightcap, we decided that in the morning we would first explore the low roads of the thieves, the sewers, and then proceed (hopefully after a bath and change of clothes) to the Temple of Oghma.


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## Tellerve (Apr 18, 2003)

Hmm, smells like a thieves' guild in the sewers.   I'm liking the mystery as well as the dichotomy between the two ethnic groups.

Is that something you've figured out more about or are you still unsure as to the roots of the hatred?

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Apr 21, 2003)

Smalls posted a little bit of info about the roots of the Lorrie/Harrie hatred earlier on.  There's not been a whole lot of info yet about it, but it sounds like a bit of ethnic hatred mixed with the twin Dukes' personal rivalry.

I hope to post an update tonight.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 21, 2003)

Oh, and if it were ONLY a thieves' guild... I'm afraid our DM is a bit more twisted than that.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 22, 2003)

*Hammer 3, Happy Harlan’s* 

Dear journal, what another busy day has befallen, and it is not over yet!

As decided, we traveled at first light (well, perhaps somewhat after first light, as we had a few drinks as a nightcap) to the alley near Mort’s Potatoes and Ale.  Cautiously descending into the stench of the sewers, we entered a large oval room with passages leading out that corresponded with the north-central oval on the map Marigold had given us.  Kazir struck a sunrod, bringing illumination to the dank, humid chamber, allowing us to see the exact cause of the horrible odor that was slowly seeping into every article of clothing on us. 

Guessing our location on the map to be correct, we decided to head generally south, while avoiding the guardhouse we surmised to be where marked on the map.  Grotesque, rotting excrement and waste floated in the foul still water, and hundreds of rats scurried everywhere, avoiding the light from our sunrod.  As we journeyed, we found our guess with the map to be correct, as passages branched off from the main tunnel as predicted.  We encountered an area where the water suddenly deepened, but fortunately Fineon was in the lead, prodding with a staff, and we negotiated the pit without much incident.  Kazir’s familiar, Zazu (I must ask him how the owl’s name is spelled!) spotted a rope floating in the water.  Pulling up the rope, Kazir uncovered a case containing some small treasure.  Apparently the rumors of the sewers being the low road of thieves are true, and we had stumbled upon some of their ill-gotten booty.  

As we neared the area marked on the map as the dying place of those who had come before us, our trepidation grew.  Soon enough, Fineon’s staff encountered another pit in the passage, and the far side was too far to reach easily.  I was the first to spot them: hideous, foul undead, their claw-like hands reaching up out of the water to grab at Fineon.  I shouted a warning, and Fineon and Gunn were able to fend off the first pair.  As more approached out of the water, I called upon the knowledge of Deneir to help me put an end to the undead’s existence.  

Perhaps my absence from His temple after being in the Sevencity for a few days angered Him; perhaps my powers are too new, or I misinterpreted my knowledge of his religion.  More likely, the mere sight of the undead, with the memory of Riley’s ghastly end still so fresh in my mind, weakened my resolve when I needed it most, and the ghouls were unaffected by my prayer....

Fortunately Fineon and Gunn were stout, and they easily dispatched the ghouls as they showed their heads above the water line.

With one challenge down, we again faced the problem of crossing the pit in the water.  Kazir ingeniously tossed a piece of brick across the gap, and was able to see that indeed it landed in shallow water not far out of reach on the other side of the pit.  We began to bicker about how to cross the pit.  I doubted my ability to swim across the pit, weighed down by my armor and weapons.  I also, vainly, did not want to get so deep in the rotting feces of the Sevencity’s cloacae.  Besides, the thought of ghoulish hands drawing me deeper into that muck, and drowning in the waste products of a city, filled me with utter dread.

Fortunately for us, while occupied in our bickering, the smallest of our group again proved the most heroic.  With a running leap, Pell, our stout gnome, cleared an amazing distance and landed on the far side.  He turned, beaming with pride, and Gunn quickly tossed a rope across to him.  While gaping at this pint-sized man, whose heart must be the size of a lion, I overheard the guttural cry of a humanoid down the passage to the south, on Pell’s side of the pit!  I yelled a warning to Pell, and he leapt from a standing position across the pit, as Gunn yanked on his rope to help the gnome across.  After a dunk in the ooze, Pell scrambled up onto the close side of the pit as we readied out weapons and spells for the attack.  Soon enough, a large goblinoid of some kind turned the corner, pulling his mighty bow in anticipation.  He was joined moments later by two smaller goblinoids that attacked with missiles as well.  I remember little of the fight that ensued, save that we managed to defeat the goblinoids, with a combination of spells and missile weapons.  I was even able to call upon my faith to command another large goblinoid to swim in the pit, whereupon he promptly sank like a stone into the murky waters.

Having cleared another obstacle, we finally gave in and swam across the pit.  I can only offer a quick prayer to Sune that the taint will someday leave my nostrils.

Again on more solid ground, we followed the map further, eventually finding another exit from the sewers.  We decided to head briefly aboveground, if only to find how much time we had spent below.  Emerging briefly into a back alley, we healed our wounds and took stock.  We had seen no sign of Opulio, but at the same time had missed a large portion of the sewers.  I knew that I would rather get the entire noxious affair over with in one go, and persuaded my reluctant comrades to go once again into the sewers.

Following a path generally south and east, we encountered little more resistance than a moving slime, as indicated on the map.  Kazir’s owl companion again spotted a treasure, this time a silver scrollcase sealed from the water.  Inside was a note in Halfling, which none of us could read.  

We finally entered a small chamber in the southeast of the map, where water dripped into a shed built against the wall.  The shed contained some rudimentary tools: a crowbar, a pick, a bricklayer’s knife.  Searching the shed further revealed a hidden trapdoor leading down to a second level.  The note referred not to water dripping into a _pool,_ but into a _toolshed!_  We had found the entrance to the second level!  

To be continued...


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## Tellerve (Apr 22, 2003)

DUM DUM DUMMMMM!!! the second level!

Nice, I like the command spell as well.  I can see you pointing at the water saying, "swim" and the wee goblinoid doing an akward dive into the muck and subsequently dropping like a rock to his end.  Ahh good stuff 

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Apr 22, 2003)

That was VERY gratifying to see.  Low level clerics aren't exactly beefy on spell selection, especially when your chosen domains are Knowledge and Rune.  Watching the bugbear go for a swim was fun goodness.


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## Tellerve (Apr 22, 2003)

Oh, you got the bugbear to do the swim?  I was thinking you got one of his goblin lackeys.  Wow, good job for you!  Or was the big guy an ogre and his lackeys were bugbears?  Either way still very cool, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Apr 23, 2003)

The big guys were bugbears, if I remember, and their lackeys were goblins.

Sorry for no post last night!  We had a great session of butt-kicking last night, so no time for posting.

I'll do everything I can to double-post tonight.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 24, 2003)

*Hammer 3, Happy Harlan's, Continued* 

We also made a more gruesome find, a bag of human ears.  Also in the bag was a note in goblinoid.  I tried my best to decipher it, and found it a set of sinister instructions, included here for reference:



> I require more.  Keep the ears, I care not, but I want them alive.  I have been forced to move to the apple orchard cemetery we spoke of earlier.  Hang a lantern on the stone man’s broken hand, and then hide until I arrive.  Bring them in lots of five.  If you do not have five, do not come.  Keep them until you have a whole batch.  Do not let yourself be seen!
> 
> --YZ




Securing a rope, Gunn and Fin lowered themselves to the second level.  There they found, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and up to their chests in water, three humans!  Lost in the darkness, they were grateful for rescue.  Unfortunately, none of them were Opulio.  Their leader, Dulf, identified them as being part of the crew of the barge “The Harrenstar.”  They had been attacked after a night of shore leave, and awoke bound and gagged in the darkness.  Dulf claimed their captain would reward us for their return, and we were happy to oblige.  

We felt we had obtained all of the clues we could, and though we had not found Opulio, were confident there was little else to be found in the sewers.  Back on the surface, we headed to the docks to deliver Dulf and his companions, Bagor and Mikel.  As promised, we were given a reward, and hopefully an ally for the future in The Harrenstar’s captain, one Hoomlur Sealover.  

Retiring to Happy Harlan’s and glad to be out of the sewers, we ordered baths and found new clothes.  My old vestments have been burned, and I can only hope that soon the stench will leave me behind.  A short lunch followed, wherein we decided to proceed directly to the Library of Oghma.  Again I thought I should make my presence known at the Temple of Deneir as soon as possible.

Refreshed and full, we left for the Library where I had spent so much time over the past two days.  A scribe showed us in to the chambers of Clifticus of the 2nd Vellum, a Basilican whom I had met briefly on my earlier trips to the Library.  He heard our story solemnly, and was shocked at the news.  Clifticus recognized Fineon’s description of the body as Brother Linden Bjorn, the tattoo of his fiancée, Jenly, giving the late Binder’s identity.  Brother Bjorn had been last seen in the company of two elderly humans matching the description we had received from Steel Jack!  They had previously been in the Library, with Bjorn as their escort.  He had not been seen since.

We asked to be shown the logbook that all must sign to gain access to the Library.  Clifticus was only too happy to comply, and we followed him with troubled thoughts to the inner gate of the Library.  There, the book showed only Brother Bjorn’s signature, and where he was headed – but no mention of the elderly couple!  Clifticus was understandably vexed by this development, and he agreed to show us to the area where Bjorn had taken the couple, as indicated in the logbook.  The Binders guarding the inner gates screened us for flammable items, and relieving us of what we had, let us pass.  Descending to the depths of the Library with Clifticus as our guide, we located the stacks where Bjorn and the humans had been working.  The books in that area mainly dealt with the Age of Darkness, that I too had been intrigued by, but were in a slightly different area than I had researched.  Driade examined the dust, and was able to determine that a book looked to be missing.  Clifticus confirmed this, but could not understand how it could be true.  All guests were searched, by both mundane and magical means, before being allowed to leave.  Obviously, the couple had either smuggled out the book in question by some other means, or had moved the book somewhere else within the Library – making it as hard to find as the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Clifticus, in a dark mood, promised to ask his superiors, and perhaps even the Great Binder Himself, for help in resolving the mystery.  We agreed to share knowledge and meet again whenever either of us discovered anything new.

_To be continued..._


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## Cinerarium (Apr 24, 2003)

*Sad Partings -- Hammer 3, Happy Harlan's, Continued* 

Upon leaving the Library, a man broke out of the crowd and approached Fineon.  Hailing him as friend, he claimed to have a long history with Fineon.  After a dazed moment, Fineon responded in kind.  I assumed that Fineon, though by no means a native of Harren, had met this man on one of his other travels.  The stranger introduced himself as Chardin, and seemed pleasant enough.  Driade reacted quickly though, instructing Gunn to move Fineon away, and telling us to distract Chardin.  I told Chardin we were busy, but he could meet up with us later at Happy Harlan’s if he so chose.  He took the bait and let us be.  As we returned to Happy Harlan’s, Kazir asked Zazu to follow Chardin from the sky.  Chardin left us and proceeded into an alley, whereupon he simply disappeared!  Whether he magically transported himself or turned invisible, I do not know.  

The air was cold, but not bitterly so, and the streets and plazas of the Sevencity were astir with ebbing masses of humanity.  We decided to press back to Happy Harlan’s where our fate in the form of Chardin could meet us as it would.  Gunn pushed a path through the crowd, not too gently, and the rest of us follow in his considerable wake. 

Driade, in particular, seemed disconcerted by the recent events.  She eyed Fineon with distrust, and not for the first time I realized just how alien Driade was.  What could I know of the elven mind?  “Fineon,” Driade said, “you are gammedrel [elven] and as such have my respect.  But you acted strangely back there, and you claimed that the nadadrel [non-elven]  was your friend.  Yet you have told me, many times, that you only passed through the cities of men as a wanderer.  You do not know that man nor—“

Fineon scoffed.  “I know whom I know and whom I don't.  Chardin is a dear friend I have known for...quite some time.”

Kazir increased his pace to walk alongside the two elves.  “Fineon, I am fairly confident – as are our companions – that you are, or were, under the effects of an enchantment.  Such arcane tricks are not uncommon, and they are as transient as a small sandstorm.  Soon you will come to your senses once again.”  

Fineon frowned and gestured towards Driade, his eyes on Kazir's own.  “You, too, believe this nonsense?  Tell me, is it so difficult to believe that I may have a human friend in this city?  I have done much traveling over the years—“

Kazir held up a hand and shook his head.  “No, it is not difficult to believe you would have such friends.  Even here.”  At this Kazir shook his head somewhat at the press of humanity around us.  “But that man is not one of them.  If you give my words any weight, please understand that Chardin means us nothing but ill fortune.”

“You do him wrong, sand wizard.”  Fineon replied less hotly than before, nimbly stepping over a pile of horse manure.  His mood grew contemplative for a long moment as the group continued through the packed streets.  Finally, he nodded toward Kazir and Driade.  “Very well, if I am indeed under some foul sorcery, then I shall agree with your thinking once the spell fades.  For now, let us speak no more of Chardin or of enchantments.”

Fineon’s reasoning seemed sound, and after another ten minutes we arrived at Happy Harlan's.  A few moments later found us around a corner table, cups of heated, spiced cider on the table in front of us.  I took a long draft, savoring the warmth and spice around my tongue that chased the cold away.  Gunn ran thick fingers through his beard, a habit the Gordian exhibits when uncomfortable.  He cleared his throat, began to speak, seemed to think better of it, and once again started toying with his beard.

“Gunnstein, speak, please.  It is obvious you have something to say.  You are among friends,” I said, trying to open the Gordian up, and hoping the conversation would lighten the somber mood.

Gunn nodded.  “Indeed I am.  Which is why this is difficult for me.”  The northern warrior stared at me, his blue eyes cold under the crags of his brow, then let his gaze fall to the table's pitted surface.  “I canna be going wit’ ye no more, master Tryn.  Your father is a fine man, and pays like he ought.  Never did he miss a day, and always I had me coins for whoring or what-have-ye.”  I could not help but smile at Gunn’s coarse manner.  “But I think it time I be hittin’ the roads once more; a man must make a livin’.  Yer safe here in Sevencity, safe with these others.”

I could not feign surprise at this.  I knew for some time that Gunn was uncomfortable with the path I was taking, and where we were going as a group.  He had argued against returning to the Hills estate, against going to Harren, and it was obvious our encounter with Chardin had shaken him.  “I understand, friend. You have served my father, and me, well. But whither would you go?”

Gunn shrugged his massive shoulders.  “I am thinkin’ I might like to see the Prince's Tower up by way o’ Tarn Cal.  Or maybe fish the fjords in the Borsk mountains.  Or, by the blue tits of Umberlee, maybe e’en head home to Gordia.  There's always fightin’ to be had there.”

“Then I wish you well, friend.  I believe I will remain here, for the time being, and I will let my father know of your decision.  Should you have need of work in—“

Gunn interrupted me, reaching out a meaty hand to grab my shoulder.  “Enough, master Tryn.  I am not a man who likes g’byes.  ‘Vaclava,’ in my home speech, is both a greetin’ and a farewell, ‘cause we ne’er like to be saying bye.  Let us not say it now.”

I nodded slowly, feeling sad at his parting, but also somewhat guiltily feeling proud of myself, that Gunn felt I could take care of myself now.  I clasped the Gordian's hand in my own.  “Then… vaclava, friend.”

Gunn stood.  “Vaclava.”  He eyeds the group, nodded quietly, and gathered his staff and pack.  “May Tempus shower you with glory.”

With nary a second glance, the burly Gordian walked out of the common room, leaving a subdued party in his wake.  In a moment, Fineon stood.  “I’d have a last drink with the Gordian.”  Anticipating Driade’s objection, Fineon raised his hand.  “Don’t worry, Driadele,” he said, using a form of her name I had not heard before, “I won’t seek out Chardin.  And besides, if I was enchanted, then I won’t be here when Chardin arrives.  I shall return by morning.”  With that, Fineon hurried out after the Gordian.

_To be continued..._


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## Cinerarium (Apr 24, 2003)

*Sad Partings, Continued* 

We all stared into our cups for a moment.  Pell, for whom I had begun to feel some brotherly affection for after his bravery in the Thieves’ Roads, was the first to break the silence.  He grinned.  “Moomgibble.”

“Moomgibble?” I asked.

Our gnome nodded, the tip of his nose waving somewhat comically over his cup.  “I grew up in the Lathen Hills, north of the Jaspar, and we had a cow named—“

“Moomgibble,” sighed Kazir, rolling his eyes.

“Aye, Moomgibble.  A wonderful name, no?”  Pell was silent for a moment, a serious look passing across his face like summer storm clouds.  “At any rate, when I was little… I was always getting into trouble.  I always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And, about once a week, I was unfortunate enough to step into the… droppings… of our cow.”

I sipped my cider, eyeing the gnome over the rim of my goblet to avoid laughing at his expense.  “Ahem.  This is interesting, friend Pell, but what has this to do with us?  Or with the Drimm?” I added.

Pell exchanged a quiet look with Driade before returning his gaze to me.  “I stepped in our cow’s manure more times than I can count.  The cow eventually died – struck by lightning, no less – but her name lived on.  Whenever my parents knew I had done something stupid, they would only have to look at me and say, ‘Moomgibble,’ and I would just have to nod.”

Kazir offered a patient smile.  “I fear I cannot discern the reason for this story, friend gnome.”  And though Kazir seemed not to know where Pell was going, I had a fear I knew.

Pell nodded and sighed, suddenly sad.  “Well, friends, there’s been no better time to say ‘Moomgibble’ that I can think of.”  His face was serious, and he looked at each of us under a furrowed brow.  “We stepped into something.  Something big, and foul, and old.  We weren’t meant to be in that glade, weren’t meant to spill blood there, weren’t met to steal that boar’s ring.  We should never—“

I interrupted, more for fear of where Pell was going than any other motive.  “That was _chance,_ Pell.  Nothing but chance.  We do not even know if the Drimm are indeed after us, or if Matrim still lives.  We know _nothing_ at this time.  There’s no reason to feel we have overstepped ourselves.”

“I’m scared, Tryn.”  Pell’s normally jaunty expression was nothing if not solemn, and the uncharacteristic look brought back to me my unspoken fears of the last tenday.  “I want to visit the city which shares my name.  I never have, you know, and I had spoken with Riley of one day going there with him.”  At this, we all looked uncomfortable.  Even Kazir’s normally stoic face looked sad, and he stroked his mustache thoughtfully.  

“These people here – these Harren men – they are rude and never seem to laugh.  I am ready to move south.”  Pell at this point looked genuinely unhappy, more so than when he had thought his mule lost at the Hills estate.

Kazir drummed a tattoo with his fingers on the table.  “We cannot yet go south, Pell.  The black-robed men have been through here.  Most likely they slew the Oghmtie priest Fineon found beneath the docks.  I, for one, would like to know the answer behind our current enigma.”

“Not me, Kaz,” Pell said, shaking his head.  “I’ve always been curious but I can tell… I feel certain this is one time when I should just move on and let it lie.  Moomgibble.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated.  On the one hand, I too want nothing more than to leave these problems behind, that the scene of Riley’s death will stop playing through my mind.  On the other hand, if it is not safe here, I do not see why it would be safe anywhere else.  At any rate, during my moment of hesitation, Driade spoke.  “I, too, do not like this.  This city smells of cruelty and suspicion.  There are too many whisperers.  The smells I want blow wildly across the Weedsea; the whispers I wish to hear are the soldierpines shuffling in the soft winds of the Lantern Grove.”

“What are you two saying?” I asked.  “You, too, wish to leave?”

Pell was silent, but Driade nodded resolutely.  “I will leave on the morrow, nadadrel.  You are welcome to come with me.  My people of the Lantern Grove would welcome you, for a visit.  We know how to treat strangers, unlike the men of this city.”

I was unsure how to take this advance.  The elf’s cold exterior had suddenly flashed warm towards me, but I was more concerned with her and Pell’s determination to leave.  “I thank you for your offer, and hope to one day travel to the Grove.  But I find myself drawn to this danger, and at the very least I must stay here in the Sevencity long enough to visit my temple and write my father in Cymeria.  I am concerned that where once we were six, we would now be three, assuming Fineon is not lost.  If there is evil afoot, and if it looks for us, we will be less prepared to meet it without you.”

Kazir nodded.  “And neither of you would be guaranteed safety, either.  Surely you would feel more secure along with us?”

Pell shook his head.  “I can move well, alone.  I can speak with the burrowing animals.  I can remain on the forest trails.”  He shook his head again, waving his hand to clear away the possibility of him staying.  “I will return to my homeland, for now, and none will follow me.”

Driade nodded.  “I, too, can move well enough on my own.  I have hunted these forests of Luc Valu for two summers now.  I fear not for my own safety or that I will lose the way.”

Kazir glanced from me to Driade, then to Pell.  “I am sure I speak for Tryn and Fineon when I say that the three of us wish you both nothing but good fortune.  We ask that you think about this decision, however, prior to acting.  I fear the roadways are less safe now than they were prior to our crossing of the Daericstream.  I fear the Gul-Drimm are more than we now know.”

Driade nodded.  “Thank you for your well wishes.  Nonetheless, I have made my decision.  Pell and I spoke last night, even before Fineon was ensnared by the odd spellcaster.  I will take him as far as the Jaspar, then I will head to the woodlands of my home.”

Pell appeared faintly embarrassed.  “I am sorry, friends.  Truly, I am.  But this is not for me….”  His words faded into an awkward silence.

Driade stood, nodded, and with a last look my way walked towards the stairwell.  Pell lingered for a few moments, gulping the last of his cider before looking at each of us in turn.  He, too, then turned and made his way toward his room upstairs.

Kazir and I looked at each other, unsure of what to say.  I smiled faintly, sad to see them go.  “Moomgibble,” I said.


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## Tellerve (Apr 24, 2003)

Holy Moongibble!

So, err, that is kinda not good.  Although I do find it interesting that the players weren't automatically happy with rushing into the jaws of death.  Was this a decision by the players to play new characters and leave the old ones off in a good way as opposed to waiting till they died to bring in a new character?

BTW, I don't know if it was intentional or not but the priest of oghma, Clifticus, made me grin when I thought his name came from Cliff notes.  As I said, maybe not intentional or maybe I'm seeing something completely different but my mind immediately made the leap.

Good stuff!  More Tryn!


Tellerve


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## RJSmalls (Apr 24, 2003)

*A Break in the Action*

Tell -

Actually, your question hints toward a bit of an unfortunate story.  We had to take a break from the campaign about this time in Tryn's journal mainly because I had too many pokers in the fire and couldn't support a regular session.  

During the pause, it became somewhat clear that a couple of the players from the start of the campaign didn't see eye to eye, so to speak.  My wife, after seeing me mope about, suggested I fire up the campaign again - which I did.  We commenced, however, without a few of the players we originally had.  I didn't feel comfortable inviting one or two of them and leaving the leftover player(s) in the cold.  Just an unfortunate situation, as I said.

Anyway, the group is smaller now, but seems to have meshed very well together.  As Tryn's journal will show, Tryn (Cleric/Rogue), Fineon (Elven Cleric/Ftr), and Kazir (nomadic Wiz/Mon) seem to work very well as a team (at least at the time of the latest journal entry; I don't want to give anything away).

There's my quick $.02 regarding the change in the group composition.

Cheers,
RJ


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## Cinerarium (Apr 26, 2003)

*Sad Partings, Finale* 

“Well, what an odd turn of events this day has shown us,” Kazir said with obvious surprise on his face.  I patiently waited for him to continue, as I had learned by now that he was wont to pause for a long period between sentences.  I did not begrudge him the time, as whatever he said when he got round to speaking was usually worth the wait.  “Where does this leave us?  Shall we continue to pursue these oldsters and pry our noses ever deeper into the mystery of the Drimm and the strange and ancient prophecies?”  One of the things I admire about Kazir is his ability to speak so dramatically.

“I say yes and will pursue it alone if need be,” Kazir continued.  “Fear comes from the discomfort of the unknown, the rational mind at war with the irrational.  My mind is calm.  I embrace the unknown,” he said, not in arrogance but with a sense of calm as stating fact, like stating that Fineon’s coat is purple.

“I am not, however, so foolish as to think this path is not dangerous,” he said, reading I imagine the uncertainty on my face.  “Tryn, I would welcome your aid and companionship on this quest, and I hope Fineon will join us as well when he returns.  We could try to pick up the trail of this Chardin, if he does not seek us out.  We certainly did tell him where we were staying,” Kaz said, shaking his head.  “Lastly, we have the lead provided by the scroll we found in the sewer.  We can head to the cemetery tonight and try to lay an ambush for anyone who might respond to the signal lantern.  It may also be of benefit to warn the priests of Oghma of our encounter with Chardin.  Someone wants their tracks covered.  More priests may be in danger.”

Kazir and I continued to talk for a short time.  We decided that we were both drained and tired, and would rather do some reconnaissance around the cemetery during the day.  Further, I need to go to my temple as soon as possible.  With any luck, my brethren will be able to provide us with some aid.

I ordered another cider, reached into my pack for my journal, inkpot, and a fresh quill, and set to writing this entry.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 26, 2003)

*Hammer 3, Happy Harlan’s, the Deep of Night* 

I cannot rest until I recount what else has transpired this dark day.  As promised, we nervously awaited the appearance of Chardin at Happy Hara’s.  I felt we were at a turning point, the general unease that had been building from the start of the journey was now growing like a thundercloud, black and foreboding, distant thunder heralding the tempest to come.  Absent our companions, I felt distinctly unprepared as Kazir and I waited in silence for the appearance of Chardin.  Once I finished writing, we talked for a bit about what to do in the morning, but our thoughts were elsewhere as we nervously waited.

My own edginess seemed reflected in a half-orc mercenary who had frequented Harlan’s for some time.  He fidgeted about, and on several occasions seemed about to come to our table.  I pointed his behavior out to Kazir, who identified him as Begeth Toth.  Toth had apparently been a gladiator in Apia, and had won his freedom before crossing the Conomora.  He looked fierce and wild, his scars plain to see.  He also looked old and tired, though I suppose age comes quickly to his mongrel people.

Just as the half orc seemed set to finally approach us, Chardin appeared.  I was so taken with his appearance I barely noticed Toth’s swift departure.  Chardin seemed to materialize out of the smoky air of Harlan’s, his dark, unkempt hair framing a face as hard as granite.  Without asking, he sat and regarded Kazir and myself.  I tensed, already mentally focused on diverting whatever charms he might try.

“I see that your companions from earlier are not here.  Very well.  I shall not be so forward as to try to enchant any of you this time.”  Chardin’s voice was like a whetstone slid across a dagger.  His piercing eyes looked into me as I regarded him with some trepidation.

“What is it you want?” Kazir asked, and I was thankful for the break in the silence.

Chardin’s gaze turned to Kazir.  “You have been looking into things you should have left alone.  It would be wise for you to cease your investigations and find other pursuits.”

“Are you threatening us?” I asked, steeling myself for his reply.  

“Let me simply say you would do well to stop your meddling.  And your companions who recently left – oh, I know about them – are affected by your choices as well.  Perhaps no ill fate will befall you, but perhaps you will come to find them, strung up by their own entrails.”  This last Chardin said with the same tone I would have expected him to order a cup of mead – no malice or anger, but as simple fact.

“Your accent,” he said, addressing me.  “You are Luc Valu, are you not?”

Thinking quickly, I told a half truth.  “No, I am from Val Hor.  Why do you ask?”

“Odd,” Chardin replied, as if we were talking about the weather.  “I am seldom wrong about these things.  I have walked Saficea since the Primus’s children fell, and have seen mountains fall into the sea.”  He paused, and I could do little more than stare astonished at his bizarre speech.  “Very well.  I leave you with this, a reward if you choose to not pursue this matter any further, and a reminder of some of the fate that may befall you if you choose to continue.”

With that ominous utterance, Chardin stood.  He calmly unfastened a pouch from his belt that looked heavy and jingled with the sound of coin.  He placed the coin on the table, and left the bar.

Several moments passed while Kazir and I looked numbly at the bag and each other.  Not wanting to touch the sack, I motioned Hara over to our table.  “Hara,” I said, “I would like to apologize for not having paid you yet for our rooms.  Seeing as we have not yet found Marigold’s son, I offer you this,” waving at the sack on the table, “as I am sure it will cover our expenses.”

Hara gave me a quizzical look, but shrugging her shoulders, proceeded to upend the sack onto the table.  

Whereupon well over a dozen severed fingers, each adorned with a simple ring, fell onto the table.  Hara gasped and drew back, then giving us a dark look she placed her body between the grisly fingers and the rest of the common room.

“I know not what kind of sick game ye be playing,” she hissed, “but you’d best clean this up right now!  And if ye be planning to stay here any longer, it’ll be twice the cost!”

“I… I – I deeply apologize, good woman!  I had no idea that would happen.”  I moved quickly to sweep the fingers back into the sack, using the edge of my bowl to avoid touching the digits.  “Here is your payment – for both of us, for the next two nights in advance.”

Kazir and I decided that this would be an opportune moment to retire from the common room.  We discussed the day’s events a bit further, and decided we definitely did not want to openly pursue the matter of the dark robes any further for the time being.  In the morning we will visit my temple, and proceed from there.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 28, 2003)

*Hammer 4, the Temple of Deneir* 

Clever journal, I take it you already noticed that tonight I scribe the day’s events from a different location.  Tonight we rest at the Temple of Deneir.  After the last night’s misadventures at Happy Harlan’s, Kazir and I felt our welcome had worn out at the house of Hara.

As promised, we ventured at first light to the Temple of Deneir.  I nervously anticipated what would occur when we reached the temple.  It had been nearly a tenday since I received the vision from my Lord, and still I had not visited one of his shrines to make an offering and pray for guidance.  We made our way through the Sevencity as it awoke, the air alive with the sounds of carts being drawn to market and roosters crowing in backyard coops, while all around us a soft snow fell.

Unlike the Library of Oghma, the Temple of Deneir is not open to the public.  Those who need a scribe enter a side entrance, or have one sent to their homes if they are wealthy enough.  The main entrance is closed except on holy days to all but the Glyph Priests themselves.  An acolyte greeted us at the door, and after assuring him that I was indeed a priest of the Lord of Glyphs in spirit, if not yet fully anointed, he let Kazir and me enter.  

We were led through the great antechamber of the church, where priests constantly chiseled at a great work representing the Metatext.  Written in several tongues, the priests constantly added new pieces of wisdom, while others plastered over bits that had, over the course of time, proven to be so much… moomgibble.

Past the nave, where I briefly knelt and said a prayer asking forgiveness for one so wayward as myself, we were led finally to the chambers of one of the Readers of the Temple.  As our host stood behind his desk and invited us to take seats, I was surprised to note that he was an Aradeeti, not unlike Kazir himself.  With a large, dark mustache and olive skin, the Aradeeti seemed genuinely pleased to meet us.

“Come in!” he said.  “I am Omad Five-Crossings, named for the number of attempts it took my vessel before we finally traversed the Conomora.  Please, take seats and be at peace.”

“Thank you most kindly, Reader Omad.  I am Goetryn Pater, and this is my friend, Kazir al’Goram.”

“Ah, a fellow Aradeeti!  Tell me, how go things in our homeland?  It is many alameshi since I left the fair steppes behind for the Isles.  Have the Doth’raki been seen in greater numbers?”

Kazir looked pleased to meet another of his people in such an unlikely place.  “It has been long for me as well, since last I saw the open steppe, or walked the streets of Durbin.  But last I heard, the Doth’raki had not been seen in numbers in some time.”

Omad stroked his mustache, and looked over Kazir appraisingly.  At last he turned his dark eyes to me, and I felt my heart jump.  Surely by not seeking out Deneir sooner, I had angered my Lord.  “Tell me then, Goetryn, what is it I may do for you?  I see that you too read from the Great Book.”

I hesitated but for a moment.  “Indeed, our Lord of Glyphs has chosen me to be one of his scribes.  I had hoped and prayed for this moment, but I am sad to say that it came nearly a tenday ago, and I have just now made it to His great house.”

Omad looked me over, then nodded.  “There are one thousand, four hundred some odd worshippers of Deneir in all of Valusia.  Of those, some two hundred and eight have taken up the life of a priest within His house.  And out of those, only thirty one – now, thirty two, have been blessed with His power.  If Deneir has chosen you, He understands why you have not yet come to His house.  Do you have any offerings for the Glyphlord?”

I must have been beaming with pride.  Omad cut through my fears and left me feeling vindicated.  Perhaps it was only my own questioning of my faith that had let me down when I attempted to repel the undead yesterday.  Oh Deneir, thank You again for blessing this mortal with what pieces of knowledge You have seen fit to grant!

“Indeed I do, Reader.  I have here a love note, recovered from the tomb of Luvios the arch mage, and several centuries old.  And here I have a transcribed set of runes from a pillar in the swamps north of Purseton.  These runes are in ancient Epalian and contain part of a prophecy.  Further, I give you a scroll, found only yesterday in the sewers, detailing a nefarious plot to kidnap natives of this city and give them up to a mysterious end.  I also have a list of five names, written in Halfling.  Finally, I have my journal, detailing my journeys since leaving Cymeria on Nightal 15th of the year last.  I would ask, however, that the journal be copied if you think it best for the temple to keep it, as I would like to retain it for my own study.”

Omad looked over each of these with a great deal of interest, particularly my journal.  The list of names in Halfling he returned.  “All of these are very interesting.  They tell stories, where bits of wisdom might be found.  Particularly the love note, as it tells of a poignant moment from a period of history where we have few records.  And your journal seems a copious account of an eventful few tendays.  I look forward to reading it, and shall have it copied and returned to you by the end of the day.  But this list tells no story, so while I thank you, I would return it.  Goetryn, you have indeed been following the path that the Great Scrivener sets out for each of us.  In return for these documents, I would offer you something in return.”  Omad produced a durable journal and a scroll.  “Pick one, as a gift to a new cleric of Lord Deneir.”

I felt honored.  Bowing, I humbly accepted the journal.  It was relatively thin, but long and wide, fashioned more for durability than aesthetics.  An elegant, scripted “K” graced the green-gray cover.  I looked forward to reading it at leisure.

Pleased with the gratitude I showed, Omad spoke.  “Now, is there any way I may help you?”

Kazir and I proceeded to tell him our story, to as complete a reckoning as we could.  Although all of it is within this journal, we wanted to immediately have his counsel.  He heard our tale in full, and seemed greatly saddened upon hearing of the death of Brother Linden Bjorn of Oghma.  The disappearance of the tome on the Age of Darkness also greatly bothered him.  Omad asked pointed questions, drawing more of the tale out of us whenever we skipped a part unintentionally, and asked for more detail when needed.

“I shall do what I can,” said Omad when we finished.  “We have little knowledge stored here, though – that is the duty of the Oghmites.  What works of art come through here are studied for components of the Metatext, and then usually sent on.  But I will see what can be found of this enemy – the Gul-Drimm.  Also, I would open our Temple to you, if you should like to stay here.  There… there are not as many of our brethren in Harren as there once were.  So many pursuing a more… militaristic career.”  At this, Omad was silent and looked into the distance a moment, reminding me again of Kazir.  “One other thing… at the Hills Estate… was there, by chance, a man there by the name of Gorful?  A rather large, bald man?”

“Indeed!  He was very helpful in getting us out of there before Lordling Lenardo could cause any more trouble.”  Kazir and I sat forward.

Omad nodded.  “Strangely enough, Sir Gorful was here, last night.  I did not speak with him though.  If you would like, I could let you speak with the priest who saw him.”


_To be continued..._


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## Cinerarium (Apr 29, 2003)

*Seeking Knowledge, cont.*

We expressed our thanks to Omad, and he left us for the moment.  Presently an elder priest of Deneir entered the room.  Stooped with age, he waved us to sit as we stood in his presence.  He ponderously made his way over to the chair that Omad had occupied.

“Hello,” he rasped, “I am Reader Ells Three-Words.  They call me Three-Words because I have discovered three words of the Metatext!”  The elderly priest beamed with pride.  “I would have found a few more, if I hadn’t fallen asleep after too much mead one night as a younger priest.  The candle I had been studying by fell over, and badly burned a tome I had been studying.  Ah… the misfortunes of youth!  Now, what is it I can do for you?”

“Reader Ells, I am Goetryn Pater, lately of Cymeria.  This is my companion, Kazir al’Goram.  We are honored to meet you!  Three words of the Metatext!  I must say, it is an honor to know you, Glyphscribe.  

“We understand you spoke yesterday with a Sir Gorful.  We are old acquaintances of his, and would like to know, if we could, more about your meeting.  Why was he here in the Sevencity?  We saw him at the Hills Estate but a short time ago.”

“Sir Gorful?” asked the elderly Reader.  “Ah yes, young fellow.  He was here looking for some people, now let me see… yes, he said something about looking for a strange mix of people, something about a Gordian, a gnome, and an elf, if I remember correctly.  I’m not sure why in heavens he sought them out here.  Seemed he almost took up the orders of Deneir as a younger man, before entering into the service of Lord Byron.  Most peculiar.”

“An – an elf, a gnome, and a Gordian?  Did he perhaps mention an Aradeeti, a Valusian, and another elf?” I asked, incredulous that he could have been looking for us.

“Why yes, I think he did.  Is that important?” asked Three-Words.

I paused, and exchanged a glance with Kazir.  “I believe it may be, elder.  I believe he was seeking us.  My other companions include those you mentioned.  Do you know why he sought us?”

“He sought you?  I heard that we had your journal, young Goetryn.  Now I must read it myself!  I look forward to discovering the circumstances behind such a motley group assembling!  Well, Sir Gorful.  I think he said something about you possibly being in danger.  Oh my, but that does sound dreadful.”

“We thank you greatly, Reader Ells Three-Words.  If you could excuse us, we need to see if we can find Gorful at all.”

“Not at all, young one.  And make sure, when you write about me in your journal, that you mention why I’m called ‘Three-Words!’”

Kazir and I took our leaves of Three-Words (thank you again, elder) and decided to go to Happy Harlan’s in case he had tracked us there.  On our way, we came across a bowyer that caught my eye.  I had heard stories of the skilled crossbow craftsmen of Harren, and decided to quickly look over the bowyer’s wares.  The worst of his crossbows put my worn crossbow to shame.  With money in my pocket from our adventures in the sewers, I decided to buy one of his masterwork creations.  I haggled a decent price, and he even threw in a few of his masterful bolts as well.  For the rest of our journey to Harlan’s I felt a bit safer, knowing I had such a fine weapon at my side.

Hara didn’t look pleased to see us, as I expected.  Again though, the half-orc Begeth Toth started as we entered the bar.  Ignoring him for the moment, I headed straight for where Hara stood at the bar.

“Hara, I’d like to again apologize for the incident yesterday.  If it’s any consolation, we’ve found another place to stay the night.”

“Well, ye paid, so all’s forgiven, but that kind of foolishness will scare off customers.”

“Agreed.  Again, my sincerest apologies.  I must beg a question of you though.  Have you seen a man in here lately asking after my companions and I?  He would be a large Luc Valusian, bald but armed and wearing armor, most likely.”

Hara gave me a look, and I knew she’d try to get some more coin out of me before this was over.  “No, I saw no such man looking for you.”

“Could I ask you then to give him a note if he appears and asks for us?”

“Aye,” she said, and I could predict her next utterance before it left her lips, “in exchange for a few crowns.”

I grimaced.  This harpy had taken every opportunity to come between us and our coin.  I thanked Deneir and Omad for giving us another place to stay.  If I ever have the coin to start my own inn, I will make it my mission to drive this uppity scullion out of business!

“Very well.  Two crowns to deliver this note to Gorful, if he should come looking for us.”  I quickly drew out a sheet of paper, my ink and pen.  Kazir suggested simply drawing the symbol of Deneir, reasoning that Gorful would know where to seek us out if he saw that.  I agreed, and sketched a simple rendering of my Lord’s personal glyph, his eye underneath a candle.  I folded the paper carefully, and dripped a bit of candle wax to make a seal.  I handed the note with the crowns to Hara.  “Thank you for this, Hara.”  She grimaced and walked away to serve other patrons.

No sooner had I turned around to talk with Kazir than I found myself face to chest with Begeth Toth, the large half-orc towering half a head over me.  “Can I help you?” I quipped, reeling internally from his stench.

“I gots information you want,” Begeth growled.  “You makes it worth my while, and maybe I’ll tell it to you.”

“Information?  What information?” I asked, stalling for time to think.

“First, you buy me some Margiven mead.  Then we be talking.”

Kazir had told me of Begeth’s fondness for mead, and of his semi-frequent brawls with Jorthio Twicebow, a Larren clansman who also hangs about Harlan’s.  I was relatively sure that by getting Begeth into his cups, I might be provoking Hara further, but at this point I didn’t particularly care, and figured that the coin we’d given her would still persuade her to give our note to Gorful if he should arrive.

With a mead in hand, Begeth was more agreeable to talk.  I won’t bore you, dear journal, with the bartering that went on.  Other than learning that Begeth’s skills with arithmetic were seriously lacking, we got precious little information out of him, other than a few slanders towards myself and my god.  Eventually we agreed to hire him out at eight crowns a day, upon conclusion of which he would tell us what information we had.  We agreed to pick him up the next day for a mission we were planning.

Exhausted from running all over town, we ate a quick meal and retired to our cell in Deneir’s Temple.  As promised, Five-Crossings had returned my journal, presumably having kept a copy for himself.  I shall have to buy a new one, however, if I keep writing at this rate.


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## Tellerve (Apr 29, 2003)

Good stuff, and a couple posts since my last one.  So cheers to you for getting a few up there.  I wonder though why no one else is saying much about this thread.  Obviously I know you Cinerarium, but I think the writing is quite good as is the story.  I guess people aren't very willing to adopt a new story hour but rather stick with ones with 5000+ views and years of backstory.  *shrugs*

Well, keep 'em coming and I'm sure you'll get more followers!

Tellerve


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## Pall Bearer (Apr 29, 2003)

Hi Cin,

Gooooood stuff.  I especially liked "…six sacrifices to seal his slumber… one… blood to awaken him… darkness falls… at dawn."

I may have to steal that one.     


Pall Bearer


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## Cinerarium (Apr 30, 2003)

*2 Whole Pages!*

Wow.  Two pages.  Who'da thunkit?

Tellerve, I'm not too concerned about page views or replies; this is really more for me, you, the guys in the group, and my other old buddies.  I'd love it if everybody at EN World read it, loved it, and offered me tons of money to write books professionally (or better yet, just offered me tons of money).

But really, it's not about that.  I mean, really, I used to DM for a long time, and since I'm not DMing this group, having something like this to do gives me something creative to do in between sessions.


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## Cinerarium (Apr 30, 2003)

*Hammer 5, the Temple of Deneir* 

Before retiring, Kazir and I talked over our options.  Neither of us wanted to pursue the Oghmite killers for the moment, and we still had the lead on Opulio’s fate to follow up on in the cemetery.  We decided that we would tackle that obstacle first, and without the rest of our group, Begeth Toth could help us.  If all went well, perhaps he would give us his information earlier than planned.

With that in mind, we set out to find out what we could about the cemetery.  I found an audience with Five-Crossings, first to see if he had discovered any news of the enemy, and also to see if he knew the whereabouts of the apple orchard cemetery.  Five-Crossings had little information on the Gul-Drimm, other than a name they were called during the Age of Heroes: the Anti-Heroes.  It seems that while our side, the side of the Light, had its Heroes, the side of Dark had its heroes as well, the Anti-Heroes, the Gul-Drimm.  According to legend, all were thought defeated.

Once again I pondered our fate, how we had stumbled into something spanning the ages of Ostia Prim.  Perhaps Pell was right, and our entire quest so far has been a Moomgibble.  But like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to this mystery.  Even if these mysterious black-robed killers are only taking the name of the Drimm, they represent an evil that would harm that which I hold dear, as evidenced by their slaying of the Oghmite and the theft of one of the great Binder’s tomes.

More relevant to our plans for the day, Reader Omad was able to shed some light on the cemetery we sought.  He spoke of a cemetery for the Orchard Guard, where that ill-fated company was laid to rest some twenty winters past.  This cemetery is in the Old City Ward not far from Harlan’s, or the Thieves’ Roads we had walked just two days past.  Kazir and I left to investigate this cemetery during daylight, to see if we could find the statue spoken of in the goblinoid note.

As promised, the cemetery was in the Old City Ward, and we had little trouble locating it.  On entering the gate, we were confronted by an elderly dwarf who brought us up short.  “Who are ye, and what be ye wanting in these hallowed grounds?” he asked.

“I am Tryn, and this is Kazir, friend dwarf.  We are new to Harren, and we were curious to find this old cemetery here.  Is there a story behind it?”

“Aye, there is, sure enough, and I could show you around if you wish.  But first, could I bother you to run and get me a bottle of Margiven mead?  My old legs aren’t so great at running, and I’m supposed to stay here anyways.”

That seemed like an easy enough request, and it didn’t occur to me later to wonder if he was trying to distract us.  At any rate, we soon returned with his mead.

“Ah, lads, I thank ye kindly.  The name’s Bagulf Burlap, and I’ve been the caretaker of these grounds since they laid the Orchard Guard to rest here, bless their lost souls.  So, what can I do for ye?”

As an aside, readers of this journal may want to know more about the Orchard Guard.  I know little of their history, save its ramifications on the current politics of Luc Valu.  I know that the Orchard Guard were founded by Lord Kliven Redshield, Knight of the Apples, a nobleman who distinguished himself by leading a number of skirmishes with bandits before being granted Ducal permission by the late Duke of Harren to found the Orchard Guard in 1342 DR.  The Guard died attempting to guard the late duke during the battle of the Bluehorn.  While touring the cemetery with Bagulf, he let us know that most in Harren look down on the Orchard Guard for failing to protect the late Duke, and thus their mausoleum was added to this existing cemetery in the slums.  

Indeed, most of the graves in the cemetery date from closer to the time of Harren’s founding from 650 to 920 DR.  Bagulf pointed out one such grave as belonging to Rimani Ashyr (died 868 DR), a half-elf known for his beautiful, romantic poetry.  Bagulf had quite a few colorful things to say about those as visit Rimani’s grave, but I made a mental note to look up the poetry, for use if and when my life ever settles down enough to find a respectable woman in this city.

Of most interest to us, of course, was the statue of the late Lord Redshield, whose son, Klovor, still holds an estate near the Hills estate.  Lord Redshield’s statue is of a well-proportioned man with a sweeping mustache, holding a massive kite shield, with one arm upraised.  The upraised arm is broken at the forearm, the stone hand holding a broadsword lying in the thick grass some twenty feet away.  The shield was clearly once colored red, but time and neglect have taken their toll.  At the base of the statue, carved on the lip of a dry fountain, is written “Born to the forests and hills of Luc Valu, sworn to the Harrenhal, the Brothers of the Orchard held to their Oath when the Jaspar ran red as apples.”

Facing the statue is a mausoleum, where the members of the Guard were laid to rest.  Bagulf seemed sad that these stalwart men and women were so neglected by those they had died to protect, and I too felt a twinge of remorse in this quiet graveyard.  My remorse turned to anger thinking of those using the hallowed site as a slave exchange!  

Kazir noted that the lock on the cemetery was of new make, newer than the gates to the mausoleum itself.  Bagulf found this odd, thinking initially that perhaps the city bureaucrats had been into the mausoleum without informing him as was due.  We decided to let Bagulf know our true interests in the graveyard, that we suspected slavers of using the graveyard as a nighttime meeting place, and that we hoped to ambush these kidnappers and bring them to justice.  Bagulf was greatly disturbed by our news, and agreed to let us have the run of the cemetery that night, as long as we promised he would not be harmed.  We actually hoped he could rouse the guard if needed for our aid.

Our reconnaissance of the cemetery complete, we journeyed the short distance to Harlan’s, where again we met with Begeth.  Again I tried to get him to reveal his information without further payment, but he proved not to be so simple.  We told him that we had a dangerous mission planned for that night, and asked if he could accompany us.  Whatever other qualities he has, Begeth proved a man of his word.  He agreed to meet us at the graveyard at sunset, and Kazir and I moved to put the rest of our plan into effect.  We bought a potion that would make me appear to be a large goblinoid, and Kazir purchased a scroll that would allow him to create the illusion of four other captives.  We aimed to light the lantern in the graveyard, while appearing to be five captives (Kazir and his illusions) guarded by two goblinoids (the half-orc and myself, in disguise).

_To be continued..._


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## Tellerve (Apr 30, 2003)

True about doing it for yourself and your friends, and I appreciate it 

But, nonetheless, it is nice to have people comment on and follow your work.  As I sure will happen eventually.  As for the most recent post, good stuff, looking forward to the trip into the mausoleum.

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (May 2, 2003)

*The Orchard Guard Mausoleum, cont.* 

At nightfall, Toth met us at the entrance to the cemetery.  Waiting until Shar had settled over the city, the only noises in this part of town spilling out of taverns, we entered the cemetery and prepared our plan.  I lit the lantern, setting it on the broken arm of the statue.  Kazir spoke the words on the scroll, and was joined by four illusory captives.  I drank the potion and (apparently, for I had no mirror) took on the likeness of a bugbear.  We waited, poised for anything to emerge from the mausoleum.  The only noises were Toth’s ponderous breathing and the crunching of snow under our boots.

At last, the inner door of the mausoleum opened.  I could not see what lurked in the darkness, but Toth whispered, “goblins,” and I readied my crossbow.  Soon enough, the gate of the mausoleum opened, and several green-skinned goblins emerged.  Speaking in goblin, they appeared agitated.  Toth replied after a hesitation, and I could only hope our trust in him was well placed.  These goblins looked especially tough, clad in armor and carrying a variety of cruel-looking weapons.  Toth whispered none-too-subtly that we were to move the captives forward.  Sensing the opportunity, I motioned for Kazir to strike.  He unleashed a spell on the unsuspecting goblins while I took the opportunity to sneak attack one with my crossbow.  Several fell from the spell, and another was wounded by my bolt.  Toth charged, felling one with a mighty blow.  In moments, all of the goblins were incapacitated, either dead or sleeping.  We quickly tied up the one goblin still living, and decided to use what surprise we had to raid the mausoleum.

Descending into its depths, we found ourselves in a chamber where the goblins had apparently been living.  Their refuse was strewn about, and they had looted the graves of the dead.  Seeing no enemies here, and finding another stairwell leading down, we decided to keep rolling with whatever surprise we had.  Begeth was first down the stairs, and quickly backpedaled in surprise.  Looking around his massive girth, I saw the cause of his concern.  Several of the wretched undead, those horrible creatures responsible for Riley’s death, lunged forward to attack him.  My anger rose in a paean to my god.  “May the light of Deneir’s wisdom blast you back into the Abyss!” I cried, and seeing my holy wrath, most of the undead turned and fled.  Taking a few hits from a zombie, Toth took down some of the remaining ones.  Again I unleashed my wrath on the undead, and was pleased to see more flee from Deneir’s might.  Finishing them off now was trivial.  I stood in the center of the chamber, brandishing the Glyph of my Lord, while Kazir and Toth dispatched the cowering undead.  

This chamber held another set of sarcophagi, somewhat similar to the chamber above.  I surmised this was likely where the officers of the Orchard Guard were lain to rest.  More interestingly, however, the center of the chamber was occupied by a large circle, similar to a summoning circle, but slightly different.  I advised Toth to avoid disturbing its unholy center, and we moved on to another stairwell.

This time we descended without incident.  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Begeth drew back a curtain revealing a short run of hallway to another door.  Cowering in the hallway were two humans, a middle aged couple who cowered in terror at our appearance.  “Please,” cried the man, “don’t hurt us!  We’ve done nothing!”  Their terror was genuine, and we saw that they were likely soon to become victims of the vile master of this place.  We calmed them, letting them know we were there to rescue them.  Kazir escorted them past the bodies to the surface, and asked them to go fetch the guard.

Back in the crypt, we examined this lowest chamber.  It appeared empty, except for a single undisturbed sarcophagus in the center of the room.  Obviously this was the final resting place of Lord Klivan Redshields.  We did not disturb his rest out of respect, but proceeded to examine the rest of the chamber.  On several pedestals along the walls flanking the sarcophagus were brass bas-relief books, each open to a page describing the exploits of Lord Redshields and his Orchard Guard.  I was attempting to scribe their contents for posterity when Kazir called out.  He had found a secret door on the far wall.

Kazir opened the door, and we found another stairwell leading down into darkness.  We were discussing what to do when he appeared, a wild-eyed man in robes, his black hair greasy and tangled, smoke rising out of his nostrils.  He unleashed a gout of flame onto Begeth from his mouth, and parried a set of blows from Kazir and Begeth before fleeing back down the stairwell before we could pursue.  Deciding what to do, I called upon Deneir’s strength to bless us.  While Begeth and Kazir maneuvered at the top of the stairs, I moved to heal Begeth.  Again the mage appeared, and again he let forth a gout of fire from the bottom of the stairs.  Again Begeth took the brunt of the attack, and again I healed him.  But not before Kazir was able to get off a shot from his wand, dropping the mage into a deep sleep.

Victorious for the moment, we descended into the crypt and bound the necromancer.  We found a number of items, including some fine leather armor that I promptly donned.  We also found a tome that reeked of evil.  Glancing at it, I saw it contained the rites to raise and control numerous undead.  We gathered our spoils and Begeth raised the sleeping and bound necromancer onto his shoulder.  We had not found Opulio, but I assumed one of the bodies of the undead to be his.

Approaching the surface, we found that the guard had finally arrived.  As we emerged from the crypt in their company, I realized that a small crowd had gathered outside the mausoleum in the falling snow.  Bagulf was there, as were the couple we had rescued.  They all regarded us with suspicion, and none more than the officer of the guard who stepped forward to question us.

“I am Sir Lucius, Captain of Lord Winslot’s Black Boar Guard.  You have exactly one minute to explain yourselves before I put you in irons and march you to the jail for disturbing the peace of the city.”  

Dear journal, I could not correctly describe the words that I spoke.  But inspired by my Lord’s grace and His aid in helping us defeat the undead, I spoke pure poetry.  I described our heroics against the goblins and the undead, how we were seeking the lost son of one of Harren’s most helpless inhabitants, and how we had come to capture the foul necromancer in the heart of the Old City Ward.  The crowd was speechless for a moment, and then erupted into applause.  “Three cheers for Tryn!” they cried.  

Sir Lucius did not look pleased.  

Fortunately for us, he also did not look willing to upset the mob, most of whom were probably drunk.  “Very well.  It seems you have indeed performed us a service.  I therefore drop the fines that would normally be imposed for such acts.  Be advised that in the future you should alert the guard _before_ you decide to go around slaughtering monsters such as these inside the walls of Harren.  Be gone, you… and be gone, you rabble!”

Rather pleased with myself, I looked at my companions.  Kazir grinned at me, apparently pleased I had shown up the guardsman.  Even Toth begrudgingly nodded in my direction.  I simply shrugged sheepishly, and turned to the couple we had rescued.

“We cannot thank you enough,” said the man, as his wife simply sobbed and wrapped each of us in a hug, even the half-orc.  “I am Jonas Whittlethorp, and this is my wife, Madge.  We had been celebrating our twentieth anniversary when we were kidnapped, and if it were not for you, it surely would have been our last.  I cannot thank you enough.”

“Please,” I said, humbly bowing my head.  “Were our roles reversed, I am sure you would have done the same.  I am simply glad you escaped relatively unscathed.  Do you require any further aid?  Do you have a place to stay?”

“Thank you – we cannot thank you enough,” he said, close to tears.  “We will be fine now that we are free.  We… we don’t have much, but we do have a manor outside of Harren.  We are childless, and our halls are often empty.  If you ever find yourselves in the area, please stop by and keep us company.  We would love to have you stay, as long as you would like.”

We thanked the Whittlethorps for their kindness, and, moving through the crowds, went on our way.

“Tryn,” Kazir said, grabbing my arm.  “Zazu is overhead.  He tells me that Chardin is in the crowd, heading away from us.”

“Well, what can we do about it?  Let’s head for some rest.  He should have no quarrel with us yet.”


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## Tellerve (May 2, 2003)

See what happens when your a good little priest and go to church 

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (May 2, 2003)

I felt pretty vindicated when I could finally get a decent roll with the undead.  But the bigger problem was missing out on meeting Sir Gorful when he went to Deneir to look for us.  Something's up at the Hills Estate that we missed out on by me not having gone there.

Or rjsmalls has just been messing with our heads...


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## RJSmalls (May 4, 2003)

> Or rjsmalls has just been messing with our heads...




Muwhaa...hahah..muwahah..hahahah.a.hahahahah!

_More misc. info on Harren, the Sevencity:_

*Notable Personages Within the Sevencity*

_The Immediate Ducal Family_
Duke Harabald de Harren
Harrenheir Lord Winslot “The Black Boar” de Harren (22 yrs)
	Captain Lucius of the Black Boar Guard
Lady Alisandre de Harren (20 yrs)
Lady Melosa de Harren (16 yrs)
Lord Willem de Harren (14 yrs)
Lord Perigrin de Harren, Lord Protector of Purseton
	Lady Arsella Tyne
Lord Ulmach de Harren, Chief Ducal Advisor
	Sir Merric Oathborn, Knight of Tyr

Leif Wyrmson, half-brother to the Duke (32 yrs)

_The Wardlords_
Lord of the Firstward, Lord Calibard Whitemantle
Lady of the Secondward, Lady Larewynn
Lord of the Thirdward, Lord Argil de Harren
Lord of the Fourthward, Lord Marshal Theladan Smote IV*
Lord of the Fifthward, Sun Lord Pendarius de Harren
Lord of the Sixthward, Shieldlord Dard Berad**
Lordling of the Seventhward, Asidric of the Crimson Banner

*   Marshal of the Sevenbanners, the Army of Harren
** Lord Commander of the Harrenguard

Lord Mothenn d’Cymeria, Crown Ambassador of the Queen

_The Divine Seven_
Harvestmother Omelia Brookshade, High Priest of Chauntea
The Loyar Jev Duncoat, High Priest of Torm
The White Justiciar Deneven de Harren, High Priest of Tyr
Ruler of the Scale & Measure Wenston de Pell, High Priest of Waukeen
Binder of the 3rd Libram Alarios Alonderidan, High Priest of Oghma
Keeper of the Word Hennamon Bendinsblood, High Priest of Deneir
Dawnbishop Valar Brennan cam Cormick, High Priest of Lathander


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## Cinerarium (Jun 13, 2003)

Sorry for the long delay folks -- I went and had a kid!  Now that he's doing fine, and I've got a little break, I'll do my best to get caught up over the next few days.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 14, 2003)

*Begeth's Information*

For the next few moments, the world seemed to return to normalcy.  Snow fell over quiet cobbled streets, the houses leaning over them like old men bearing the burden of years.  The buildings in the Old City Ward are crumbling, standing more out of habit than any regular maintenance.  Refuse lines the gutters, and ice and mud fight for dominance in the areas not covered in excrement.

Toth seemed unperturbed by the squalor surrounding us.  He grunted, rolled his massive shoulders, and winced.  “I still feel them burns on me, though yer god did well enough to heal me up.”  He eyed me.  “Anyway, what with your helping me n’ all, I figures I might as well tell ye what I mentioned earlier.”

I smiled softly.  “We would appreciate it.”

Toth spat a glob of snot in the snow.  “Bugdul Orc-father is an old pal of mine.  Known him four winters, if it was one.  Anyway, he was hired by an old man in black robes – beady eyes.  Looked like a ferret.  Bunch of boils on his skin.  Ugly bugger.  Paid Bugdul in old coins – older ‘an I’ve seen, and I’ve seen old over in Apia.  Told him to watch the roads…”

Kazir idly glanced upwards at Zazu, then looked back at Toth as the half-orc drifted into silence.  “Please, friend, go on.”

“Aye, well, this old peach tells ‘em to watch the road.  Bugdul and some other rough lads.  Tells ‘em to watch for yer group.  Watch good.  Make certain you don’t leave in one piece, if ye get my meaning.  Bugdul says he thinks other bands were hired.  Says the old guy’s got plenty of the ancient coins and spends ‘em like a sailor at a whorehouse.”

I frowned.  “And your friend Bugdul –“

Begeth appeared uncomfortable.  “He ain’t no friend.  I just worked an odd job or two wit ‘em and his boys before.  He’s most like out there,” he gestured toward the walls looming in the distance, “waitin’ and watchin’.  Ye may wanna find a new job, here in the city, ‘cause leavin’ may be bad for yet purty faces.”  He laughed softly as we came into view of Harlan’s.

So once again, our fates are hounded.  First by Steel Jack and his boys, now by this Bugdul Orc-father.  It was all too much to deal with at present, so we left Toth at Happy Harlan’s, and slogged on to the temple and some much-deserved rest.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 14, 2003)

*Thoughts on the Story Hour*

So after such a long break it's been tough to get back into the story hour.  Now admittedly, what I just posted still leaves another 20 pages of written stuff left to go.

But one of the other reasons it was tough to get back into was that I've been reading more of the other story hours, like Destan's, PirateCat's, etc., and they're all darn good.  I like them better than this one.  So that got me down a bit.

But then I thought about it some, and I thought about why I started this in the first place.  And it wasn't to write great fiction or anything -- I find that hard to do in a journal format.  If I had to do it over again I'd probably pick more of a memoir, looking back on the life of Goetryn or something.  Or as a biography, whatever.  That way it'd be easier to get into the heads of the other characters, describe points of view that Tryn wasn't a part of, etc.  In short, tell a better story.

So the reason I started the whole thing was really, at the end of the day, to capture what went on during the session for my benefit, so everybody in the group could look back and remember what happened when, who the important people are, etc.  I also know, having DM'd quite a bit in the past, that it's nice to have a reference written from the players' points of view, to know how they're keeping up with the storyline.  So I find myself intentionally including minutiae that isn't that good of a read, but might be useful to us or smalls in the future.

I guess I'm done being defensive, but I had to go through this process myself just to get back into writing the story hours again, to get psyched up for writing them again.

Thanks for listening to the rant,
Cinerarium


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## Cinerarium (Jun 15, 2003)

*Hammer 6*

Kazir and I spent some time this morning arguing over whether to keep pursuing the matter of Opulio.  Kazir is of the mind that, since the chance to get free rooming at Happy Harlan’s is apparently moot, and the only way to find out whether any of the bodies from last night’s is Opulio’s is to go through the guard, we might as well stop pursuing the matter, and cut our losses.  Leaving Marigold hanging like this does not settle so well with me, however.  While I doubt she has been honest with us, I would give her one last opportunity to say goodbye to her son.  I have felt the loss of my kin, and know the hardship that occurs when one never has the chance to say goodbye.

I decided to pursue the matter on my own, while Kazir studied the necromancer’s spellbook.  Toth happened to know a couple members of the Harrenhal guard, those soldiers assigned duty at the Ducal castle and the Pennantfields surrounding it.  A few beers paid for at the Tourney Tavern near the Pennantfields, and soon enough some of his friends were talking.

Specifically, we located two guardsmen who agreed to help – Rikard d’Cymeria, and Mott of the Gap.  Rikard and I exchanged some stories of taverns we’d both frequented in the Countess’s city.  Mott is from the hills near Formyr, a massive stronghold overlooking the central plains of Luc Valu.  I found Mott to be the more agreeable of the two, despite Rikard’s past in Cymeria.  Nevertheless, they were both mercenaries to the core, and I won’t trust them any further than I have to.

Oddly enough, they both knew Toth because the half-orc had beaten them within inches of their lives in a free-for-all bar brawl some four months past.  Strangely, this act of barbarism had earned their grudging respect.  Some of their companions, whom Toth had similarly beaten, were not so kind when we walked into the Tourney, and had left the table as we sat down.

These Harrenhal guardsmen said they could ask around to see who was handling the cleanup from the mausoleum, and could check into the whereabouts of Marigold’s son.  I let them know that Marigold had apparently asked the guard for help previously, but had been turned down.  The guards, of course, wanted to be paid for their services, and I negotiated a decent price that rewarded them for useful information.

The rest of the day was spent praying at the Temple, and trying to scribe magical scrolls.  I also gave some thought to a letter I would like to write for my father.  Thinking of this, I decided to ask Omad if he could help get the letter to Cymeria safely, and unread.

I received and audience with the Reader soon enough, and proceeded to describe out exploits of the night before, giving him the unholy book of undead creation.  He seemed greatly excited by this, and proceeded to give me the scroll he had shown me the day before, when I chose the journal instead.  

Omad agreed to send the letter, and I include a copy of it here for my future reference:



> Dear Father,
> 
> I have arrived in the Sevencity after some travails on the road, but am pleased to announce that I have at last arrived safely, and write to you from the sanctuary of our Lord Deneir’s temple.
> 
> ...


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## Cinerarium (Jun 16, 2003)

*Hammer 7 - Many Meetings with the Harrenguard*

Toth and I returned to the Tourney Tavern along the snow-covered Pennantfields.  The massive Harrenhal castle rose to our west, and the sun hung overhead.  The day was bright and windless, but bitter cold nonetheless.  I blew into my cupped hands and stomped my feet as we waited for the two guardsmen.  Toth suggested we wait inside the tavern, and agreeing to his practical wisdom, we went inside.

Mott arrived shortly thereafter.  Sitting, he spoke plainly and quietly.  “I’ll be collecting payment for both me and Rikard.  He’s on duty.”  The stout guardsman pulled a rolled up sheaf of parchment out of his belt as I fished for the coin I’d promises him.

“It seems your woman Marigold did consult the guard about her son, but she left before we ever told her that we’d help or not.  Didn’t seem too interested in his whereabouts, at least that’s what I was told.”

Mott ordered some soup, and I followed suit.  The soup came in large, dug-out bread loaves, such that you could peel off a piece of bread and dip the bread in the soup.  By the time the soup was gone, so was the bread.  It was simple and delicious.

Mott slurped down a few mouthfuls, and continued.  “That piece of paper confirms the identity of the undead you fellows kicked up.  Most of them were sailors, and their captains had thought they’d deserted.  We still can’t identify some of ‘em, but we’ve got some Tyrian priests trying to find out who they were.  None of those unidentified ones, however, had blond hair like your Opulio supposedly did.  Personally, I think they were probably bums and such.”  He shrugged.

“Your Opulio wasn’t among them bunch o’ ghouls.  I got a buddy who says he remembers a fella by that name being killed nearly two years ago, somewhere here in the Old Ward.  He thought it odd because he ain’t never heard anyone named that other than this guy who’s been dead two winters now.  Opulio Street was named after some old Formyrian Duke and I ain’t never heard of any o’ them nobles down that way being called such, and that be where I grew up, so if they not be naming their kids that, probably not too many folks are.”

I nodded impassively, not sure where this information placed Marigold.  “And your friend’s name?” I asked.

Mott thought for a moment, likely seeing if he could get any more crowns out of us.  “S’pose it’s no harm in tellin’ ya that, eh?  Hell, he may make a bit o’ coin if you pay him to answer easy questions like you done me and Rikard.”  Mott smiled.  “Sergeant Sheptin.  He works outta guardhouse up near Caran Plaza, in the Coinsward.”

Now I truly was beginning to be perplexed.  Opulio, dead several years?  What did this mean?  Was Marigold in league with the slavers?  Or just mad?  Or had she been thrown in our paths to throw us off the scent of the enemy?

I gave my thanks to Mott and bid him adieu.  Back at the Temple of Deneir by early in the afternoon, I found Kazir in our cell, studiously poring over his newly acquired spellbook.  He paid me little heed as I filled him in on my conversation with Mott.

“Well then,” he began.  “Marigold Thatch is either mad or working for the goblins.  Fascinating.”  Kazir spoke in an even more deadpan than normal, and I sensed that he was holding back a scathing bit of sarcasm at my expense.  “Would you mind fetching another candle for me?  This one is almost out.  Thanks.”

Kazir was seriously beginning to try my patience.  Much as I respect the stoic monk, his wit as of late was at my expense, a situation I was used to seeing from the other side.  I could see his point of view, though.  He must think me running off on a childish quest, though I simply do not wish to see the woman suffer any more.  Fuming a moment, I grabbed the candle Kazir had waved at and used it to light another.

“Marigold’s either mad, or working with the goblins – or there’s even more going on!  Lest you forget my good friend, Sergeant Sheptin’s name is one of those on the Halfling note we found.  Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to find out what happened to Opulio.

“I don’t want to make any enemies with the guard here, and I could really care less if this Sheptin is a crook.  But, assuming Marigold’s not crazy, I still feel bad for her.  I think I’d like to talk with this Sheptin.  If his story sounds sincere, I’ll assume the connection with the Halfling note is a coincidence, and that Marigold’s off her rocker.

“Thank you though, Kazir, for providing a sounding board,” I continued, sounding as sincere as possibly while smirking behind his head.  “I know you don’t think this quest of mine is worthwhile, but I appreciate your counsel nonetheless.  I’ll take Toth with me to see Sheptin, and leave you to your studies.”

At last, Kazir finally stopped his scribbling and put his quill down.  He took a deep breath, perhaps a sigh, and looked up at me.  “Master Goetryn, my apologies.  Yes, I do think this missing boy is a fool’s errand.  However, I do not mean to belittle your effort to ‘do good.’  I am not so generously inclined but your considerable efforts are admirable.  Pursue them as you wish.  Should you need my assistance, I will do what I can.”

Kazir picked up his quill and returned to his work.  “I must say,” he said over his shoulder, “the coincidence that this Sergeant’s name you mention is also written on that note does intrigue me.  Please keep me updated.”

With that, Begeth and I left.  I think I am beginning to understand this Aradeeti better, and I find that while more cold-hearted than I, his demeanor is pleasing and his natural curiosity meshes well with my own.  His stoicism tempers my gusto at times, and for now, at least, I count him as a valuable ally.

Once again I found myself plodding through the slush with Toth at my side, the night now fully black.  Toth grew frustrated with our slow pace and tossed a few coppers to a young half-elf with a rickshaw, and soon enough we were bouncing along pleasantly enough on our way to the Coinsward.  

Finally we arrived at Caran Plaza, and Toth spotted the guardhouse in the dimly-lit blackness.  He instructed the rickshaw lad to wait for the two of us, and we approached the door.  I clanged a run against the metal, and was pleased to hear its resounding echo inside, followed by the sounds of scurrying feet.  A peephole slid open in the door, and a pair of beady, bloodshot eyes peered out.  “Names and business!” said the voice belonging to the eyes.

I nodded.  “I am Tryn, and this is my fellow, Toth.  We seek Sergeant Sheptin.”

The eyes narrowed as they studied us.  “Odd hours to be lookin’ for the sergeant, eh?  And a half-orc… don’t know if I should be openin’ the door for the likes o’ you two.”

Toth sighed ponderously, and I forced a friendly smile.  “Sir, we but wish to ask the good Sergeant a few questions.  We are friends of his friends – Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria.  It may be worth his while.”

“Indeed?”  The peephole closed, and I heard more footsteps, and the sound of voices.  The door opened shortly thereafter.  A man stood, silhouetted in torchlight, his features dark in the shadows.  He was somewhat large, draped in a heavy fur robe and wearing the crimson of the Harrenguard.  He left the iron portcullis still separating us closed.  His voice was smooth, and somewhat menacing.

“I am Sergeant Sheptin.  What is it you want?”

“Well met, Sergeant!  I am Tryn d’Cymeria and this is Toth.  Your fellow guardsman, Mott of the Gap, told us you may be able to help us… and we’d gladly make it worth your while.  If you’d let me tell you our story, I promise not to take up too much of your time, and I may be able to compensate you for any… information you might have.”  

Sheptin folded his arms over his chest, and nodded impassively.

“My associates and I were recently involved in the incident at the Orchard Guard Memorial, and helped to bring the necromancer there to justice.  We wound up there in the first place because we were looking for a man named Opulio, whom we thought might have been captured by that fell wizard.  He wasn’t there, but Mott let us know that you might know something about this Opulio.  Sergeant, can you help us?”

Sheptin reached upward and pulled a torch from a sconce on the wall.  He proceeded to open the gate separating the guardhouse from the outside, and held the torch upward between himself and the two of us.  

At first, his face was etched with suspicion, but softened a bit after he studied our countenances.  I suppose my boyish charm has not yet faded for all the stubble on it.  He replaced the torch and wrapped his fox fur robe about himself.  “Let me think on it…”

I studied him while he frowned, eyes downcast.  Broad-shouldered and clean-shaven, with unruly black hair, he seemed somewhat unremarkable.  But his eyes seemed to hold more intelligence than the normal guardsman, his manner more professional, and I could detect no malice in him.

After a few moments, he snapped his gloved fingers and looked up at me.  “Tryn d’Cymeria, did you say?  Been down that way myself.  Take my wife and kids, I do, when I get leave once a winter.  Skirt the roads so as to not stir up the Lorries, but otherwise t’ain’t a bad trip.”

He hooked both thumbs in his belt.  “I won’t be needin’ yer coins, sirrah.  I do recall the name, though.  Opulio.  Aye…”  Sheptin drifted into silence as he frowned, once more in thought.  “Opulio.  Lanky guy.  Lorrie, if I recall correctly.  Lived down in the slums with his mom.  He died about two, or three winters ago.  If you knew him, I’m sorry.”

I attempted to maintain my composure.  Again, what could this mean?  Was Marigold insane?  “Died?” I croaked.  “Two or three years ago?”

Sheptin nodded matter of factly.  “He was caught trying to steal some scrolls, if I recall, from some Dread Wizard up in the Newcity Ward… or maybe it was potions.”  He shrugged.  “Anything else, friends?”

“Well, Sergeant, that just about does it then.  I thank you for your time, and if you ever have need of a priest of Deneir, please come to the temple and ask for me.  I’m sad to know the tale of Opulio ended, and so long ago at that.

“I suppose we’ll be going… but, ah,” I grinned somewhat sheepishly, and looked at my shoes, “this Dread Wizard… do you know if he’s still alive?  And, just out of curiosity, do you know if he was a necromancer?”  With this last question I was really fishing, but perhaps if I could find a link between the necromancer from the cemetery and Opulio, I would at least have something to show that my search was not in vain.

Sheptin shrugged.  “Necromancer?  I’m not sure, Cymerian – I prefer swords over spells.”

With this, we said our farewells.  Sheptin seemed like a fair enough fellow – and someone I hope I can count on in the future, should the need arise.  I found nothing that made me think he was involved in any nefarious plot connected to the list of names in Halfling, and he also indicated that Opulio was long dead.

Head heavy, having failed to find out any more solid information, I joined Toth in the rickshaw back to the temple.  Tired from the travels of the day, I find myself barely able to hold the pen as I finish writing this.


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## Destan (Jun 17, 2003)

*Re: Thoughts on the Story Hour*



			
				Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *...I also know, having DM'd quite a bit in the past, that it's nice to have a reference written from the players' points of view, to know how they're keeping up with the storyline.  So I find myself intentionally including minutiae that isn't that good of a read, but might be useful to us or smalls in the future.
> *




You don't know how right you are!  Or, perhaps you do. 

It _has_ been a while since we've been able to sit around the gaming table for this campaign, but I know that I - personally - am very indebted to the fact that you take the time to include all the details.  I've spent the better part of this morning reading Tryn's journal and it's accomplished two things for me: 1) it refreshes my memory which has faltered during this gaming hiatus, and 2) it's rekindled my desire to play again - and soon!

Great writing, "Daddy" Cin.  Keep it up.

Destan aka RJSmalls aka smalls


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## Cinerarium (Jun 18, 2003)

*Hammer 8*

My head pounds with too many ciders this evening.  I shall write more in the morning, when the throbbing has subsided.

*Hammer 9*

Thankfully journal, the headache is less now.  Yesterday morning, after scribing a scroll to help us later, I conferred with Kazir over what to do next.  As usual, he discounted my desire to confront Marigold, but let me know he would support me if my path wound that way.  We talked back and forth about Sheptin and Marigold to little avail.  Soon enough, our talk turned to Sir Gorful, and it occurred to me that we still had heard nothing from him.  I decided to check on him at the inns around town, and again at Happy Harlan’s.  Also, Kazir let me know that Brom the Belly, the chief of security at Harlan’s, was said to have many contacts amongst the guard.  I decided to spend the evening with Brom, and see if he had any information about the people on the list.

Unfortunately, the hunt proved fruitless.  Gorful had not been seen around town, at any of the inns I checked.  Neither had he been seen at Harlan’s.  Brom was there, though, and we got deeply into our cups together, matching story for story in a duel of such bull as has seldom been seen.  Late in the evening, sensing the time to be ripe, and fearing that soon I would be too drunk to remember, I passed him the list of names in Halfling.  He fitted a lens against one of his eyes, holding it in place with the fleshy mass of his cheek and his brow.  I translated the names on the list for his benefit.

Brom gave a low whistle.  “I canna’ say if I’ve met any o’ these men, friend Tryn – I’m pretty sure I haven’t.  Just so, just so – I know that first name.  Makivios.  He was a sergeant what was found to have let some freelance bobbit cutpurses break into a warehouse in his district.  He was hanged, I think, about two months ago.”

Brom knew little else related to our quest (though I did learn a few new bawdy tales), so late in the night I bid him adieu and retired to the temple.  Whom should I find there but our wayward elf, Fineon!  And he seemed as drunk as myself!  We caught up for the rest of the night over the remainder of his flask, and as my previous day’s entry announced, I was in no shape to write by the time we finished.

That is all the time I have to write for now, journal.  I shall return later.

*Hammer 9, Later the Same Day*

Over a late brunch, the three of us discussed our plans for the day.  Finally we decided that Kazir would continue his studies, while Fineon and I looked for Marigold.  We also decided to risk a visit to the Library again, despite the machinations of our enemy, to discover if Clifticus had any luck discovering anything more about the Gul-Drimm, or the whereabouts of the missing tome.

We had little luck finding Marigold.  From all accounts, she had not been seen since we uncovered the necromancer in his crypt.  I began to feel a great unease about Marigold, that perhaps she was involved in the plots so far.  Unable to find her, we proceeded to the Library of Oghma.  The entire time I felt constantly as though Chardin would appear at any moment, raining fire down upon us.  My fears were unfounded thankfully, and we soon found ourselves in front of Clifticus.  Once the pleasantries were out of the way, we began to ask him about his progress, and whether he had heard from Gorful.

Clifticus shrugged.  “No, no one’s been looking for you, including any bald men from the Hills estate.  Further, things have been relatively quiet.  Yet I do have something of note, though I’m uncertain as to whether it pertains to your own issues.

“Last night an arcane mark was left on the rear, northern wall of our temple.  We have been forced to deal with vandalism there in the past – our rear wall is accessible to any from outside of the city – but normally such fare is confined to paints and pigments.  Had the Great Reader not sent a dream to one of our brothers regarding the defilement, we most likely would never have known the mark was made.  It was invisible, you see, unless one used magic to detect it.

“The symbol itself was simple.  ‘Twas of a shield surrounding a volcano – or what looks to be a volcano – painted upon it.  None of my fellow Readers had ever seen such a thing.

“I have spent the remainder of last night and this morning researching the mark, and I believe I may have located a group which uses such a sigil.  The Sect of Cuth, that is their name.  Unfortunately, I found only the symbol and the name of the Sect in a book of cult heraldry and religious orders’ symbology.  No information is given about the Sect, though I intend to look further in my free time.

“I wish I knew more, gentle Deneirite.”

I asked him more questions about the mark, and whether any secret doors or other magics had been found near it, but unfortunately found nothing.  Neither did he know more of the missing book.  I returned to the Temple with Fineon downcast.  Where do we go now?  What do we do?  For now, at least, we have decided to go to Harlan’s for a drink, on Fineon’s recommendation.  That elf is one continuous sponge for liquor.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 19, 2003)

*Hammer 9, Late in the Evening*

Tymora smiled on us this evening, giving us a path to follow out of our quandary.  A young, somewhat homely woman approached us at Harlan’s.  It’s a rare commoner that approaches such an odd group as ours, especially at a place like Harlan’s, so I was immediately intrigued.  Kazir seemed to recognize her, so I let him take the lead (and admittedly, I was somewhat into my cups at the time, and started on crawling my way back to the surface – damn Fineon!).

She introduced herself as Miralda, and Kazir nodded in recognition.  She asked us, if we could, to accompany her to her Lord’s estate in the Coinsward, where Lord Macon had a job for us.  

Kazir and the others had apparently served Lord Macon before I met them in the swamps.  Lord Macon’s daughter Vixia had married a Lorrie, it seems, and her other suitors had threatened a riot at the wedding.  Lord Macon had hired Kazir and his associates to ensure the peace of the wedding, that Vixia and the Lorrie, Certando, might enter into matrimony happily.  

Since then, it seems, Lord Macon had fallen on hard times.  Several of his caravans had never reached their destinations, presumably taken in recrimination for allowing his daughter to marry a Lorrie.  I had heard some of Lord Macon’s story in my last tenday in Harren, and Kazir filled me in on the rest, as he, Fineon, and I made our way to Lord Macon’s demesnes.  Along the way, the fog lifted from my brain somewhat, and I readied myself to meet with a noble who, unlike the others we had met so far, might actually not be angry with us.

I felt some excitement as we entered the estate.  The fine rugs and furnishings reminded me of my father’s smaller home in Cymeria, and the comfortable surroundings automatically set me at ease.  I could picture myself as a youth, curled up by the hearth reading in a home much like this while my aunt in the kitchen oversaw the servants preparing dinner.  

Presently we were shown into Lord Macon’s study.  He appeared dreadfully in need of sleep, but otherwise in fine spirits as he looked up from a scroll he had been studying.  “Welcome!  Ah, Kazir, I am glad that Miralda was able to find you.  I see you have new companions?”

Kazir nodded, studying Macon and the surroundings before responding.  “Yes, Lord Macon.  This is Goetryn Pater d’Cymeria, and Fineon Elvenkin.  For what do we owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

Macon absentmindedly picked up the parchment he had been studying.  “Excellent, well, as you know, I had some… difficulties… getting my caravans through, but I’d promised I’d hire you again once I had the means.  Well, I finally got some of my wool through to Longsnow [a Valudian frontier town], and I am now happy to say that I would like to place you under employment again.”  He fidgeted with the parchment, glancing down to it with an almost childlike excitement on his face.

“We would be honored to hear your proposal, Lord Macon,” I said, glancing slightly at the parchment to draw his attention there.

I should mention at this point that I am getting somewhat self-conscious of my own diplomatic skills.  The robes we discovered in the tomb of Luvio – may Ridley’s soul find rest in Milil’s halls – have given me some gifts in this skill.  I’ve always prided myself on my ability to form quick relationships with people, but especially after my performance a few nights past in the Orchard Grove Cemetery, I begin to feel the full power of the robes taking effect.  At any rate, I apologize for the diversion.

“Yes – this parchment… you’re observant, master Pater.  I have recently come into possession of what I believe is a map to an old dwarven fortress in the mountains northeast of Harren.  And not just any fortress,” he paused dramatically, inhaling as he looked at each of us, the firelight glinting in his dark eyes, “the fortress Khundrakar, home of Durgeddin himself!”

At this I could not help but gasp slightly and raise my eyebrows.  I quickly noticed that Kazir and Fineon were looking at me expectantly.  “Durgeddin,” I began, looking at Lord Macon for his permission to continue, “was a master dwarven smith.  He was known – I would have thought widely – for his hatred of orcs.  I believe he was once a member of the Silverhand clan who lost his family in an orc raid.  He swore vengeance, and seeing that his fellow dwarves were reluctant to seek revenge, broke away from the clan with a small band of his followers and apprentices.  He and his miners were said to have widened out a natural cave and turned it into a fortress, Khundrakar or Stone Tooth, from which they launched numerous raids on the on the humanoids in the region.  From what travelers recount, his men were responsible for the slaughter of entire clans of orc and goblinkind, including their females and children.  Eventually, so the story goes, ogres and orcs discovered his hiding hole and slew Durgeddin and all of his followers.”

Lord Macon nodded, apparently pleased to hear I knew a part of his story.  “Indeed master Pater, indeed.  Now, from all reports, Durgeddin’s weapons and armor are some of the finest ever made during this Age, and the few artifacts I have seen attest to this fact.  If this map is correct – and I think it is – there is surely even more left in his stronghold.”

“Sure,” Fineon interrupted, “but there are probably even more orcs and ogres.”

Macon grinned.  “And so we come to it.  I would like to hire you to find out whether this map is true.  I’ll pay you just to find out whether the fortress exists as the map claims – and if you enter, I’d ask to purchase anything valuable you find within.  Of course, if you wish, you can sell to someone else, but I’d ask to have the first chance to make an offer.  It’s a no lose situation.”

Before Fineon could speak again, I caught the Lord’s attention.  “Your offer is very interesting.  Might my companions and I talk about it privately for a moment?”

“Of course,” Macon replied, and left the room, map in hand.  We quickly discussed the offer and decided to accept it.  At this point, we had nothing to lose – and little to gain by staying in the Sevencity.  A nice distraction for a tenday or so, to lay low and hope that the enemy stopped watching over us.  With any luck, we would make this Lord Macon a trusted ally, and get some small fortune out of the deal.  I was particularly worried about our survival chances in a fortress presumably overrun with ogres and their lot, but in the face of Fineon’s optimism and bravado I found it hard to mount a counterargument.  Even Kazir seemed eager to go.  We agreed to take up Lord Macon’s quest.  He gave us the map and a hearty five hundred crowns each, and we retired to the Temple.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 21, 2003)

*Hammer 10, on Lake Harren*

As early as possible this morning we gathered Begeth again, purchased rations, and set about finding transportation north across Lake Harren.  We soon found a fisherman, Peb, willing to take us in his dhow to the mouth of the Wine River, near the northern end of Lake Harren and close to our objective.  Leaving on a sailboat seemed preferable to taking the north road, where Bugdul and his men lay in wait for us.  With the late tide, we were away from Harren and our problems, and out on the wintry stillness of the lake.

The day passed peacefully and uneventfully as Peb changed the lateen rigging on his vessel to catch the wind and speed us on our way.  Peb was rather poor, gaptoothed and thin, but he went about his task with a meticulousness that I admired, and I found myself missing my days in Cymeria, tagging along with my father whenever he would allow, as he would inspect the new vessels in port.  This dhow is tiny compared to some of the galleons that would weigh anchor in Cymeria, or even the ketch that bore us from Val Hor in my youth.  But its merry triangular sail caught the wind on a beam reach well enough, and we made good progress in the open water.

*Hammer 11, on Lake Harren*

The wind picked up this afternoon, and it seems that the slight chop is nearly too much for Kazir.  He has taken to meditating on the poop, trying to calm his stomach.  Peb thinks we will make landfall by tomorrow if this wind holds.

*Hammer 12, Near the Mouth of the Wine River*

Midday found us at the mouth of the Wine River.  We disembarked and said our farewells to Peb, who offered to pick us up if we lit a signal fire.  We let him know it would be some time before we returned, but he agreed to wait a few days and fish before returning to Harren.

To the north of us, the land rose into a pine forest, its boughs dark and foreboding.  We grimly hoisted our packs and headed into the woods.  Once under their sheltering boughs and out of the wind, they seemed much less evil.  The peace and quiet of the forest lifted my spirits, and we made decent time marching up the gentle slope.  We made camp shortly thereafter amidst the pine needles.

*Hammer 14, in the Depths of Khundrakar*

The earthen creature is dead, and we have paused for a moment in this chamber of death to heal our wounds and decide whether to continue.  I believe we will rest here for a short time before continuing – it seems that the orcs and ogres have learned their lesson and no longer venture into this chamber.

Yesterday around noon we spotted it, a lone stony peak rising out of the surrounding woods to a height of over a few thousand feet.  I thought I could make out smoke rising from the far side of the hill, and Kazir sent Zazu to investigate.  Zazu circled the hill and managed to find the source of the smoke, a small fissure in the side of the hill, most of the way up.  The clever owl also managed to find a path that zigzagged its way up the hillside to a ledge about one thousand feet up – a path that we likely would not have discovered without the keen-eyed owl.  

We decided to make for the fissure instead of the front door, reasoning that whomever was inside would be difficult to take through the main entryway.  The climb was arduous as we scorned the trail for the path up the rugged hillside.  In places the ground had washed away into a vertical wall of earth, forcing us to track sideways across the hill before climbing further.  Eventually we were able to find the fissure, a gap about five feet square hidden amongst thickets and boulders.  The hole descended down, down into darkness.  A very faint odor of wood burning rose from inside, and our eyes watered as we peered into the blackness.

Fineon decided to try his luck and descend into the hole.  He fastened his rope on a boulder, and lowered himself down, never letting the rope go much further below him.  Eventually he signaled that all was clear.  Begeth was next, and then Kazir inched his way down the rope.  Finally I stood alone on the hillside, the evening gloom above me, and the ominous blackness beneath.  I have never been the strongest lad, relying more on my wits and my tongue to get me out of trouble – and recently, my faith in the Glyphlord, blessed me His name.  The thought of lowering myself by brute force into an unknown depth made my knees shake in terror.  I was horribly frightened at the thought, and I did not want to give Begeth another reason to make fun at my expense, so I had not even asked him to carry my heavier belongings down with him.  After the climb up, my armor and crossbow felt like lead weights strapped to my neck.

Moments slid by, and I could sense the growing impatience and danger of my friends below.  If something should happen to them now, I would be unable to aid them from this height.  This final thought gave me renewed strength.  I knelt at the lip of the fissure, grasped the rope in both hands, wrapping it around my waist and ankle as Fineon had done, and slowly crawled backwards over the edge.  For a heart-pounding moment I hung on the edge of the hole, my arms stubbornly refusing to move back and my chest heaving against the wall of the fissure.  At last I pushed back with my legs and began to walk down the hole, lowering myself hand over hand while my feet braced against the wall.  Move down on the rope with my hands.  Step down the wall with my feet.  Repeat.  

My pleasure at getting closer to the bottom was tempered with the realization that my arms were beginning to shake under the strain.  My palms, already sweaty, were now raw and burning from friction with the coarse hemp rope.  My lungs burned from the acrid smoke I could now see came from a large pile of embers smoldering below.  I would have cried but for the knowledge that my friends awaited me below, and other, darker creatures as well.  Just when I thought I had made it, with perhaps twenty feet left to go, I looked down to check my progress, at the same time adjusting my hold on the rope.  My grip failed, and for a horrifying eternity I flailed in space, attempting to grab the rope again as my legs pushed me back from the wall and the rope and my life.  I fell, hard, into the embers, seared by their heat, the wind knocked out from me and pain aching in every sinew of my body.  I heard scuffling and running around me as I rolled out of the fire, barely able to move, and called upon my Lord’s strength to heal me, using one of the scrolls I had prepared earlier.  Though I nearly fainted from the pain and effort of summoning His strength, the power coursed through me and I felt my wounds mend.

Fortunately for me, my companions had not waited for me to get myself out of the fire.  As I pulled myself shakily to my feat, I looked around with smoke-blurred vision to see Begeth charging into combat with some goblinoid creature that was entering our room from a dark passageway.  The light from the fire, its embers now exposed from my fall, lit the room, apparently some sort of kitchen, in a hellish light.  The battle unfolded as more of the goblins raced to the attack.  One was even a spellcaster who summoned a ball of fire to attack Kazir.  I’m afraid I added little to the combat other than a distraction.  Before I even realized, the fight was over and the goblins lay dead.  Their spellcaster had fled invisibly, and we warily pursued the sounds of his retreat into the next room, a large cavern with many exits.  Kazir cleverly used his wand to make the invisible adept fall into a slumber, whereupon Fineon was able to find and slay him.

The combat over with no escapees, we felt safe, for the moment at least, to recover and explore our surroundings.  The goblin adept was carrying a number of interesting items, including a ring with several keys.  Exploring further, we followed a dwarven-made passage to a locked door, easily opened with the key.  Through the door, a yawning chasm split the cavern, its depths too far for our light to reach.  The dwarves had left a rickety bridge spanning the chasm, and following it, we soon found another exit to the complex, the front door indicated on Lord Macon’s map.  I breathed a sigh of relief to again be in the open air and out of the closeness of the mine.  Knowing that we had another way out besides the rope had something to do with my relief as well.

Finding the exit gave us a renewed sense of confidence and we turned our backs on the open air, moving further into the tunnels.  We took one of the unexplored exits from the first cavern outside of the kitchen, the one that the adept had tried to flee down.  The passage branched, and again took on the look of worked stone.  Another door ended the tunnel in one direction, and we decided to go through.  Begeth opened the door, only to face a number of huge ogres standing up from around a table and drawing weapons!  The ensuing fight was fierce and close.  I was knocked unconscious and close to death by one of the beasts’ massive greatclubs, and missed most of the fighting.  I awoke to find Kazir kneeling over me, a tense smile on his face.  Apparently he alone had come out of the fighting on his feet, but Tymora had smiled on us, and we all lived to fight again.  Deneir received many prayers from me, as I did my best to heal up my other companions.

Drained of spells and having nearly died, we decided to exit the compound and find a secure place to rest out the night.  We found a small depression on the far side of Khundrakar, and I fell asleep nearly instantly, exhausted from the long day of hiking, my harrowing fall, and my near-death experience.  My sleep was fitful and filled with dark dreams that I am glad to not remember.  Fin told me that I was moaning in my sleep; I like to think it was from the wounds and not from any ominous visions of the night.

Lathander rose in the morning though, banishing Shar and her nightmares, and raising my hopes for the new day as well.  Healed and ready to go, I steeled myself for another day inside of the caves and tunnels of the dwarves.  This time we decided to not explore the area where we had fought the ogres any more for the time being.  We took instead another exit out of the main cavern.  This one led us to a large set of stone doors, wreathed in dwarven runes that I could not decipher.  When Fin approached, the doors swung open silently, revealing a large rectangular chamber beyond.  Fin called upon his god to show him the magic of the portal, and detected that the doors had magically detected him and thereby opened.  Now I was beginning to get scared.

We entered the room with some nervousness.  As we approached the far end, we could make out a number of skeletons, both dwarven and more obviously goblinoid.  The goblinoid ones had been smashed, as if on a colossal anvil.  When I began to ruminate on how none of us were dwarves, we passed the entryway to the room, and the massive stone doors swung shut behind us.  Another set of doors on the far side of the chamber, nearer to the skeletons, looked promising, so we decided to press on.  Fin detected further magic around the doors on the far side, and we expected them to open on our approach.  As Fineon reached the far set of doors, a low rumbling shook the chamber, quiet at first but rapidly building as the floor itself began to shake!  I whirled around to see the stone floor in the center of the room erupting upwards!  The stone and earth took the form of a huge humanoid, with a large blocky head and boulder-sized fists.  It lumbered towards us with ponderous movements, each step a groan of stone on stone, small pebbles falling from its stride.

The crushed bones of the goblins in the room made sudden sense, as did the large amount of dust in the room.  Our only chance to live, so I thought, would be to convince this guardian of the dwarves that we were here to rid its realm of these goblinoid invaders, nothing more.  As I opened my mouth to speak, Kazir spoke the command words of one of his spells, the arc of eldritch power speeding from his gesturing hand to the elemental approaching us.  My hope for parley died.

As did we all, nearly.  The fight was difficult, the elemental’s long reach pummeling us again and again.  I was forced to fight in close combat with my rapier, to no avail.  My best strikes did nothing, my rapier glancing off of the creature’s stony hide.  Finally one of Kazir’s spells blasted a large enough portion of dirt free to kill the beast.  

Battered and bruised, we have decided to rest for the time being where we are.  The skeletons indicate that the goblins have learned their lesson and are unlikely to venture here.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 22, 2003)

*Hammer 15 (I think), the Depths of Khundrakar*

Still sore from the elemental’s pounding, we awoke in the utter darkness of Khundrakar, feeling ever more like we are trapped in a tomb. 

I talked briefly with Kaz and Fin before praying to Deneir this morning.  We came to the conclusion that whatever lay beyond the doors would most likely be undead.  After all, it appeared that the goblinkin had not survived this hall, and what could have survived so long, unable to reach the surface?  It was with great trepidation I watched as Fineon moved towards the entrance to the lower levels, coming into contact with the magical aura that made the doors swing open on their ancient hinges.

My fear, for the moment, was ill-founded.  The other side of the doors opened into a stairwell leading down into darkness.  With goblins and ogres at our backs, we warily descended.  The bottom of the long, curving stairwell opened into a large, natural cavern whose limits our light could not find.  We moved further into the cavern, staying near the wall on our left to avoid getting hopelessly lost.  I jumped at every echo and drip of water, my heart beating in my chest as I mentally conjured the images of every ghoul in Hell out of the shadows.  Soon enough they came, a band of albino lizard-creatures, similar to the lizardfolk but with elongated snouts and pale, white scales.  They swarmed at us out of the darkness, swinging great axes and bearing down on us with a fury!  

The fight was short but fierce.  I launched defensive spell after defensive spell, and healed Begeth and Fineon as they were bloodied even as they hacked apart their foes.  Kazir’s evocations sizzled out of the ether, combusting and electrocuting the cave-dwellers.  Soon enough they all lay bleeding their lifeblood onto the cavern floor.  Wounded more in spirit than body, we rested momentarily, and ventured on.

Soon enough we found the passage that the monsters came from, their wet tracks appearing from a subterranean stream that issued from a cave wall before disappearing into the wall opposite.  Another tunnel led us into a chamber coated in giant mold spores and phosphorescent fungus.  Amidst the mold we spotted several decaying skeletons adorned with weapons and armor.  None of us had the ability to retrieve the booty without traveling through the mold, so we retreated for the time being.

Down another passage we found what I had suspected and feared, a burial chamber.  A number of sepulchers carved from stone blocks sat atop a ledge that overlooked a much larger cavern, this one also covered in phosphorescent fungus.  The ledge and sepulchers were clean of fungus, though a number of desiccated humanoid and beetle husks lay nearby.  I moved to approach the far sepulchers, which were closed and covered in dwarven runes that I wanted to copy.  As I approached, a number of gigantic spiders dropped from the ceiling!  Their faceted eyes reflected hundreds of torches as their maws clicked in anticipation of another feast.  

Toth and Fin were quick to cut down the spiders closest to them.  I stabbed at one with my rapier, to little effect.  Kazir’s spat forth a gout of vile ichor that he narrowly dodged before destroying the beast.  In a matter of seconds, the spiders lay dead.  I began to think that we had come into our own, so to speak.  We had taken the worst the cavern had to offer, and survived.  

Brimming with confidence, I made it over to the closed sarcophagi and began to examine the runes.  While struggling with the hard dwarven script, I heard Toth scream in agaony over my shoulder!  He had looked out of one of the exits to the cavern, a short passage that ended in a large round pit.  He staggered backwards into the room, a huge wound open in his shoulder.  We quickly readied ourselves for whatever would come through the entryway.

“Another o’ them spiders,” Toth said, “but large as a horse!”  He spat and grimaced at the pain.  Tense seconds passed.  After an eternity, we relaxed our guard.  The spider seemed content to leave us be, and for our part we decided to not investigate its parlor any longer.  I healed Toth, and we took stock of our options.  Below us lay the fungus-infested cavern.  Bringing our light closer to bear, we could see that a rough path existed through the dimly glowing moss, as far as we could see.  Closer to hand was another passageway.  We chose the closest passage, and left the fungus for later.

After a winding tunnel, the passage opened into another natural chamber, this one formed around another stream that emerged from the right hand wall and fell into a steeply-descending cascade before disappearing into a hole in the far corner of the room.  A treacherous path led up along the left hand wall into another archway.  Any misstep on the path would find me sliding down the damp walls of the chute and into the waterfall, never to be seen again.

Tymora favors the foolish, fortunately, and we safely traversed the path to the archway.  Through the arch, the path ended in a landing looking over a perfectly circular pit, obviously carved by the loving hands of dwarves.  I guessed that a stairwell most likely descended from the landing to the floor, about forty feet below.  I examined the walls and found that indeed, small holes existed that could have been filled with wooden supports for a stair.  

Unfortunately for us, no stairwell currently filled the pit, so Fin attached a rope to a protruding rock in the hallway, and rappelled down to the chamber below.  Nervously waiting my turn (I asked Begeth to lower me down, so as not to repeat my fall into fire a few days before), I nearly jumped off the precipice when Kazir screamed in pain behind me.  Whirling to face the new enemy (and very conscious of Fineon, forty feet straight down and far from danger), I saw Begeth’s spider, easily six feet across, perched on the wall above Kazir.  His left arm hung limp, badly bleeding, as the spider moved in for the kill.  In an instant, it was on Kazir, attempting to grapple him against its crunching mandibles.  Kazir’s good arm shot out, fending off the furry forelegs of the arachnid.  Begeth charged to Kazir’s aid.  Toth howled in primal fury, his great axe whirling in an uppercut blow that sliced half of the insect’s head clean off, the carapace shattering as whitish ichor splattered across the floor.  As a final insult, Toth kicked its lifeless form into the chasm.

I did not relish his tusked grin as he looked back at us.  Below me, in the pit where Fineon was alone, I heard talking.  I turned to look over the edge.  A ghostly dwarf had emerged from an archway at the base of the pit and had approached Fineon.  I could not understand its speech, but after a few moments it appeared that Fineon did.  After another minute of talking, during which I did my best to heal Kazir, but in truth did little as I had spent all of my spells uselessly against the lizardkind, Fineon began to ascend the rope, leaving the ghost below.

“Fin – what happened below?  Are you well?”

“Eh, I’m fine.  Come on, let’s go back to the outer room.”  He shook his head as I opened my mouth to speak.  “Say, Kaz,” Fin asked, just now noticing our wizard’s blood-soaked cloak, “how’d you get hurt?”

In the outer chamber, our words nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall, Fin told us what had gone on below, even while he remained blissfully ignorant to how close we had come to losing Kazir.  The dwarven ghost had thanked him for clearing out the upper levels, or warrens as he called them, but warned him not to continue any further.  Fin wanted to go back immediately, that we should all fight the ghost and destroy it, that we might take whatever treasure it guarded.  Kazir seemed only too willing to go along.

I will not speculate on the attitudes of those who may someday read this journal, if indeed it ever emerges from the darkness of this place.  I have never been one to care for the laws of monarchs or petty nobles, whose right to power comes as legitimately in my mind as that of any thug in the street, always watchful for the next larger dog to come along.  

But the contents of this tomb, for that is what it is, are in a large sense the property of the dwarves who died defending it – and apparently haunt it still.  If we had not encountered this restless spirit, I would have no qualms claiming the spoils for myself, as we bled for that right against those who had stolen it to begin with.  But the discovery of the original guardians of that treasure – even those undead who guard it still with honor – gives me pause.  And I would not send such a spirit to the Abyss for failing to fulfill such a charge as defending the treasures of its kinfolk.

So I argued with Kaz and Fin.  This is not the first time I have noticed their willingness to pillage, their lack of compassion for their fellows, and their cold desire for treasure at any cost.  Yes, we were hired by Lord Macon to recover whatever we could of the dwarven treasure – but that was before we knew that there were dwarves still here defending that treasure (albeit undead dwarves).  Throughout it all, Begeth at least stayed at my side – of all people, the one I considered least likely to be there.  But he has a strong sense of honor, this one, and I had saved his life several times now through the grace of my Lord Deneir.  He is a stout, if simple, comrade.

In the end, we decided to let the matter rest for the time being.  Wounded and bereft of magic, we decided to again retire to the chamber where we defeated the elemental, and rest.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 25, 2003)

*Hammer 15, the Forge of Khundrakar* 

Another chill sleep passed in the stillness of Khundrakar.  Fin shook me awake, having taken the last watch, and we all readied ourselves in silence.  The only conclusion we had come to from the last evening was to leave the dwarven spirit to his rest for the time being, and continue exploring the rest of the caverns.  Kazir announced that his magic could perhaps let us retrieve the sword we spotted with the skeletons in the moss-encrusted room, so we traveled there as quickly as possible.  His magic was potent, summoning an invisible helper to retrieve the bastard sword and a few other trinkets from the moss.  Making haste, we also used the servant to shake loose some of the items in the spider’s web above the pit.  Some of the items and coins were lost, but interestingly we recovered a vial containing Tears of Lys, a powerful narcotic I had heard of in my previous life, in Cymeria.

Perhaps these Tears can be used to buy my way into certain sectors of Harren society.  I shall have to think more about it, but I don’t see why not.  The Tears are so expensive that only the richest use them, and putting them into the right hands could prove useful.

Now we turned to the one path we had not taken, that appeared not to be guarded by dwarven spirits, the path through the fungus near the sepulchers where we fought the spiders.  The path led through the large cavern for some ways, before finally coming to the end of the cave and a large iron door.  Toth and Fin managed to haul one of the stone sarcophagus lids over and bashed it in, and we proceeded on our way.

Ahead was a worked stone passage.  A little further in, we began to hear the faint sound of hammer on anvil, growing louder as we went.  The corridor ended in an octagonal room containing three cast bronze statues, each easily ten feet tall, of dwarves in various poses of battle.  I was fascinated by these sculptures, and while I was occupied examining them, Fineon spotted something even more interesting, a secret door.  Cautiously we opened the door, and it swung on silent hinges.  The pounding of hammer on anvil became louder.

“Hello?” Fineon asked.  Toth shook his head at the elf, and headed up the stairs on the other side of the door.  We all followed.

The top of the stairs opened into a huge hallway, the ceiling out of sight of our light.  Pillars, spaced thirty feet apart, stretched the length of hall as far as we could see, and still that rhythmic pounding echoed out of the darkness.

The considerable hair on the back of Toth’s neck raised, and he tensed at the ready for battle.  I peered around his girth into the darkness.  There, hovering at the edge of our light, were thirteen ghostly dwarven figures.  Before anyone could act, I spoke up.

“Dwarven spirits, we apologize for disturbing your rest, and mean no ill will to you or your halls.  We have cleared the upper levels of your ancestral foes, and merely sought to clear these levels as well.”

The specters stopped their approach, and between hammer blows I could hear the heavy breathing of my companions, all of us aware that this could quickly turn fatal.


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## Lela (Jun 27, 2003)

Finally, I have arrived.  I had actually finished this yesterday (or was it two days ago, I've lost track) and loved every minute of it.

Thanks for granting me yet another Story Hour to read and I plan to post often.  As often as you do anyway.

This rocks, it's amazing, and it's (kinda) FR.  What more could anyone want?


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## Cinerarium (Jun 28, 2003)

*A Barter with the Dead*

“Human,” the central ghost moaned, “we thank you for clearing the upper warrens, but you must leave these halls now, and leave behind the sword your companion carries.”  I thought quickly of the sword Toth carried that we had so recently recovered from the mold.

“We would be glad to do as you wish, good spirit, and I hope that you may someday find warmth at the side of Moradin’s forge.”  I turned as if to leave, but then paused.  “Tell me, is there nothing we could do to put your souls at rest?  Why must you continue to haunt these halls after so long?”

I began to realize as I was speaking that none of my companions could understand the dwarf’s words, that somehow he was speaking into my head.  And the entire time I worried that Fineon would scoff at them and leap to the attack, eager to take whatever treasure they guarded.

“You have a good soul,” said the spirit.  “But you offer that which you cannot grant.”

“That is a shame, for I would hope to give you rest.  You, and the other spirit we met in the lower levels.”

“Do not speak of the betrayer!” I stepped back at the sudden fury.  

“I apologize humbly, my lord.  I meant no offense, and did not realize he was the cause of your torment.  Please, is there nothing we could do to end your suffering?”

“There once was… another time, when we were betrayed.  We were to guard these halls, and we failed in our duty.”  The dwarven spirit paused, and his incorporeal eyes lost some of their fire.  “Perhaps you could do what we could not.”

I paused, and looked at my companions.  This would be a gamble.  “I believe we would be honored to try."

“Wait a second!” Fineon interrupted, “What’re you volunteering us for, exactly?”

“I would have us help put these spirits to rest.  They were betrayed in the past, and failed in their duties to defend this place.  They believe we could help to right what went wrong.”

“Elf, I read your mercenary spirit,” the dwarf said, and I knew that the others could understand him now.  “We would grant each of you an item of your choosing, made from the forge here, if you accept this.  But we would not allow you to take any of Durgeddin’s other treasures from these halls.”

I looked at my companions.  In Kazir and Fineon I could see their calculations at this offer.  “What would this entail?” asked Kazir.

“We would embrace you, and take you… to another time and place.  There you would do battle with our enemies.  If at any time you wish to return to the here and now, you need simply return to the place where you appeared, and will it so.”

“Come, brethren,” I said.  “Let us send these spirits to their rest.  They mean us no harm unless we try to steal that which they guard, and if the had meant us ill they could have done so already.  This bargain harms none, and stands to benefit us.”  Little did I know what the consequences of my words would be.


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## Cinerarium (Jun 28, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Finally, I have arrived.  I had actually finished this yesterday (or was it two days ago, I've lost track) and loved every minute of it. *




Thanks for dropping by Lela!  I'm glad you like it.  If there's anything in particular about the storytelling you'd like me to improve, please let me know!  Getting feedback from readers like you is one of the things that makes this story hour worthwhile.


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## Lela (Jun 28, 2003)

Time Travel with ghosts, now that's a cool idea (note to self, do this).  Good thinking Destan.

Cinerarium, I love the point of view idea.  It's one of those things that gives a Story Hour something extra; something different.  I've read (and am reading) a lot of Story Hours and it's things like perspective that make your story rememberable.



			
				Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Thanks for dropping by Lela!  I'm glad you like it.  If there's anything in particular about the storytelling you'd like me to improve, please let me know!  Getting feedback from readers like you is one of the things that makes this story hour worthwhile. *




If you honestly want that kind of feedback, I'm happy to give it.  I try to avoid commenting on that because sometimes it's taken personally but if you want it, you got it.

I havn't seen anything that's jumped out at me (that I remember) but I'll keep my eye out from now on.

Keep it coming, I love it,


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## Cinerarium (Jul 4, 2003)

*The Long Awaited Vengeance* 

Soon enough my companions agreed, though Toth with some trepidation.  “I couldn’t care about giving up this sword,” he grumbled, “but this whole thing stinks like a week old loincloth.”

The spirits moved to embrace us, one for each of us.  As the lead one embraced me, I felt chilled to my core, and an icy blackness spread up in front of my vision.  

Like a dark fog, swirls formed in my eyes and my stomach turned.  I saw my aunt Arabelle and uncle Welthan, dead seven winters now.  I moved towards them, and they disappeared in a fog, only to be replaced by my mother, dead when I was only six.  Then, in the shadows, another figure appeared.  I moved towards the shade, unsure whom it could be.  

Suddenly my vision cleared, and I knew the previous images to be but a dream.  I stood over the body of a slain dwarf.  Looking around, I saw twelve other dwarven bodies, my companions standing over three of them.  I knew that we had been betrayed by him, the son of Durgeddin, that his mercenaries, supposedly hired to help us drive out the cursed orc hordes, had themselves turned on us.  They were coming.  

Bursting through the double doors at the end of the hall, they poured in.  First, a massive ogre, bellowing with rage, quickly followed by a half orc clad in the skin of a bear and armed with a greataxe.  Lithely stepping through the door was a wood elf, a pale scar marring his fine features.  Behind him, a small, doglike creature dressed as a troubadour bound in to the room, his finger cymbals clanging.  Finally, with an air of unholy menace, a black-robed priest of Myrkul strode in, his grinning skull holy symbol dangling from his neck, and a morning star ready in his hand. 

Toth charged the other half orc, and with a bellow of rage sliced the man in twain with his axe.  I called upon Deneir, summoning his whirling glyph to fight with me.  The ogre strode to Toth, and just as Toth had cut down his foe in one blow, was similarly gouged himself.  A cold shiver of fear ran from my gut to my eyes, seeing our mightiest felled so easily.  Fin danced back out of the way, laying low his opponent while Kazir fired off spells.  The priest was stunned while I moved into a defensive posture, firing my crossbow while my spiritual weapon attacked the ogre to little avail.  Finally Fineon killed the ogre, Kazir dispatched the kobold, and all of us finished off the elf and priest.

Toth’s body lay cold on the floor.  He was beyond healing, his spirit quickly slipping from his body in this odd place.  We hastily rifled the bodiesof our foes, then resumed our positions over the dwarven bodies that we appeared over, Fineon carrying Toth’s inert form.  

Once again, a sense of nausea washed over me.  Soon enough, we were back in the great hall with the dwarven spirits, their faces looking more kindly upon us now.  Fin gingerly placed Toth’s body on the cold stone, his ribs still visible and slowly oozing the last of his life essence.  I moved to speak, but the gammhedrel stepped forward into the breach, eyeing the lead ghost.  “Our friend lies dead.  What was the purpose of that?”

“To save us.  To right a wrong.”  The ghost seemed empathic yet distant.

I moved forward to stand by Fineon.  “That is not enough.  We have paid dearly, and would know a bit of the story behind this.”

The ghostly dwarf sighed softly, his eyes suddenly old.  Somehow he – and all the spirits – seemed more tenuous than before, more translucent.  They were leaving, ebbing away slowly before our eyes.  “Durgeddin had a son who was raised in hatred.  Hatred for orcs and ogres, hatred for those who would defile our bastion.  In his hatred he sought mercenaries to aid our cause, for the tide was against us.  Yet those he brought were more interested in Khundrakar treasure than dwarven dreams; they turned upon us, attacked us from behind via a secret passage only our dwarven nobles were aware of…”

Kazir nodded, stroking his chin with one finger.  “The dwarf ghost we saw on the lower level… he was Durgeddin’s son?”

“Aye,” whispered the lead ghost, even as some of his ethereal companions began to dissolve from sight.  “He is Malgudon, firstborn and only-born to Durgeddin.  He was slain by the very mercenaries he brought with him.  He is cursed to guard those lower halls until the sun smolders into nothingness.  It is no less than he deserves.”

Fineon shook his head and ran a hand through his tangled locks.  “You spoke of payment –“

“Indeed.”  The ghost raised both arms in supplication.  “Speak now the weapons or shields you wish forged, and it shall come to pass.  Then we shall go into the Great Caverns, and tarry no more upon this world.”

I laid a hand on Fineon’s elbow, staring hard at the ghost.  “What if we asked for another boon, a favor in place of the items?”

The ghost appeared bemused.  More of his companions disappeared.  “What would this ‘favor’ be, Man?”

“Would you… could you raise our slain friend?”

The old dwarven spirit thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.  “If you and your companions so desire, that can be done.  But it is that, or the weapons of yore.  You may not have both, and we will hold you to your promise not to carry Durgeddin’s wares from these Halls.  Choose quickly, before our grip on this world is gone.”

I turned to Fin and Kazir, and we shared a thoughtful glance.  I turned to the spirit, stalling for time.  “While we consider this, let me ask.  What was the point of what we did though?  It could not have changed the past, or the present would surely be different.”

The ghost nodded.  “A good question, Man.  You answered a need for vengeance and did what we could not, but Khundrakar still fell.  The deed was not without merit, but it was isolated as a boulder in the current of time.  Malgudon remains a traitor, Durgeddin remains slain.  You have given us peace.  This must be enough for you, for it is enough for us.”

In typical Kazir fashion he waited patiently for his turn to speak, hearing from all sides and points before responding.  “Good dwarves, I have heard that you value plain speech so I will not mince words.  You have read our reasons for being here correctly.  We sought out Durgeddin’s lair of old to search for his legendary arms.  You have also tested our hearts and we have done you a great favor.  If you do indeed have the power to return our friend from the dead then I ask that for MY reward.  I have no need of steel weapons, no matter how fine.  My friends have earned the choice of arms you promised them.

“As for your restrictions on Durgeddin’s artifice leaving these halls, I ask why?  In the hands of heroes, how many more orcs could be slain?  Ten?  Twenty?  One hundred?  Certainly more than lying lost and unused in some forgotten cavern.  If Durgeddin were here would this not be his wish?  His weapons, his revenge, could be eternal.

“I stand by my word and will leave them untouched if that is your desire.  But others will come eventually and you will be gone.  Shall you depend on their honor, or ours?”

I looked at Kazir, in awe.  Again our quiet monk cut through all of the questions surrounding us to deliver a masterful response.  I have so much to learn from him.  There is more to him than greed, and I regret writing such.

The lead ghost nodded, once, curtly.  “So be it.  We shall raise your friend as you ask, but he shall be marked.  The passage from life is not an easy one.”  As he continued to fade away, the dwarven spirit waved a hand toward the body of Toth.  His wounds closed in front of our eyes as the hammering of the forge grew louder.  The half-orc coughed repeatedly and weakly opened his eyes to glance around in confusion.  

The ghost, now just a barely visible whisp, eyed Kazir.  “You have spoken eloquently and your words show truth.  Any of our wares you find on the lowest level, that inhabited by the Lost Son, may be taken from there.  The items on this level, however, must remain within Khundrakar.”

With a last glance to Fineon and me, the ghost spoke one last time.  “Speak now your weapon or shield of choice, and you shall find it beneath the statues in the outer room.”

Quickly I asked for a buckler, and Fineon for a spiked chain.  We left the dwarven hall with a last glance, collected our items in the anteroom, and again retired to the elemental room for rest


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## Lela (Jul 4, 2003)

Wow, that was thought provoking.  Very nicely done (by DM, PCs, and writer alike).

Did I miss something or did the ghosts never actually explain how killing the Myrkyl (sp?) priest and his buddies assuaged their guilt?


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## Cinerarium (Jul 5, 2003)

*Hammer 16* 

Rested and recuperated, we again talked of the dwarven spirit in the pit below.  We now knew him as Malgudon, the betrayer of Durgeddin’s people.  I no longer felt any remorse at challenging his prohibition against exploring that layer, after learning of his past from the other spirits, and their attitude towards him.  If anything, I was eager to lay his soul to rest, ending an unnecessary servitude on his part.  After all, he was really the one betrayed, and did not deserve to spend the rest of eternity in torment.

We headed back to the pit where Fineon had talked to the dwarven spirit two days ago.  At the bottom, we nervously waited to be challenged by the spirit, and I readied a spell to hallow the area against undead.  Distantly we could hear the water pounding through the room above, but we saw no sign of the spirit. 

Cautiously, we moved through the archway, down a passage into another large cavern, this one only partially worked by dwarven hands.  The ceiling reared over forty feet overhead from what Toth told me, and numerous ledges, stalactites, and rock formations glistened on the walls and ceiling.  The floor had been worked by dwarves, massive flagstones making a level path, and leading to a bridge over a swiftly flowing channel of water.  

As we crossed the bridge, we heard ear-shattering screeches from above as bestial creatures fell on us out of the darkness!  Flapping foul wings, these half-humanoid, half-bird abominations clawed at us with their wicked talons.  Scrambling for cover we fought back, and sent their corpses one by one into the river below.  As the last one fell, I distinctly thought I saw some large shape in the water swallow the corpse, suddenly dragging it under the water.  

I quickly checked the party’s wounds, but we seemed to have fared well.  It was then I heard what sounded like a bird chirping, from up on one of the ledges.  Could these creatures have young?  I shuddered at the thought, still disgusted by the ragged flesh that hung from their humanoid torsos.

More cautiously now, we proceeded along the water’s edge across the bridge.  The path ended at another bridge that crossed the river a second time.  Curiously, I thought at the time, this bridge appeared pitted, like the face of a pox survivor, as though something had eaten away at its surface.  

Across the bridge, a narrow path guarded the wall to our right, the stream to our left having opened wider into a subterranean lake.  We moved further along the path, to a point nearby where it became broken in places, and I knew we would have to jump, one or two at a time, onto multiple stone ledges rising out of the water.  

A hoot from Zazu made me turn my head towards the water.  There, swiftly moving towards us over the still water, was another dwarven ghost.  Unlike the ones above, the eyes of this ghost glowed red, its beard ragged and its nails curled into sickles.  “You were warned not to return,” it rumbled, extending a translucent, bony finger at Fineon.  “The rest of you may leave now, and live, but this one dies.  Beware the Sleeper in the Depths!”

The betrayer’s eyes glowed more brightly, like coals stoked in hellfire, and it swiftly flew to the attack.  Toth stepped in front of Fineon and hacked with his greataxe.  The specter seemed unfazed and raked its ethereal claws through Toth.  He groaned in agony, his face seeming to shrivel and wrinkle before our eyes.  “Momma!” I cried, and quickly hallowed the area and blessed my companions.  

Unfortunately that was nearly the extent of my help to the others during the combat, as Kazir’s spells, and Fineon’s and Toth’s blows quickly tore the creature’s insubstantial essence into nothingness.  

We paused to take stock of our situation.  We were still relatively healthy, though Toth had been somehow drained by the creature’s attack.  He shook off the unholy feeling surrounding him, and proceeded to hop to the next stone, followed by Fineon.  Two jumps away, he called back.  “There’s an island in the lake this path is leading to.”

I looked into the darkness, trying to see the island in our feeble light.  I could not see the island, but I thought I saw something else… eyes!  Large, round eyes out in the darkness, just above the level of the water, and moving towards us quickly!  I let a crossbow bolt fly harmlessly in its direction as Toth yelled, “Eyes!  Out in the lake!”

Black as midnight, it rose up partly out of the water, a huge draconic head, horns the color of ivory though tipped with purplish ebony.  Its maw parted, claws raised as it darted snakelike in at the attack.  A bite and strike from its wing spun me round as I tried dodging its claws.  Fineon and Toth hurried back to our sides as I ran across the bridge, hoping for safety as the creature disappeared into the water.  I quickly healed myself and hurried back to Toth’s side, where he was hacking at the creature’s head as it reappeared, unleashing a gout of acid at Kazir who rolled safely out of trouble.  More vicious combat followed as I used a combination of spells and crossbow bolts to help our cause.  The dragon would disappear beneath the water, leaving us to wait in terror before it would rise its head again, unleashing another gout of acid that burned my flesh and also splashed onto Toth.  I heard Fin chanting a prayer to his strange elven god, and with a sulfurous bubbling of water, I looked to see a wickedly-ridged dorsal fin rising out of the water near the dragon.  Soon enough the maw attached to the fin rose out of the water, the anarchic shark Fin had summoned biting viciously into the dragon’s flank.  Now we had the dragon between us and the shark.  Fin’s new chain whirled out again and again, trapping the creature whenever it moved forward to attack.  Kazir’s spells slammed repeatedly into it, causing arcs of lightning or fire to explode over its surface.  

With a roar that shook the cavern, the dragon dove a last time into the water, and sped rapidly down the river away from us, badly damaged.  The anarchic shark disappeared, and we collected ourselves on the far side of the pool.  We were all badly wounded, the acid still eating at my skin and burning holes in my clothes.  We decided to retreat to the elemental room one last time, before returning to seek whatever was on the island, and finish off the dragon when we are back at full strength.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 5, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Wow, that was thought provoking.  Very nicely done (by DM, PCs, and writer alike).
> 
> Did I miss something or did the ghosts never actually explain how killing the Myrkyl (sp?) priest and his buddies assuaged their guilt? *




Thanks Lela!  Kazir's player especially deserves the kudos for that one.  His strategy to claim the loot was masterful.

And no, the ghosts didn't really explain themselves very well.  My sense is that we prevented the mercs from doing more damage to Khundrakar (thus vindicating the spirits of these guards), but that in the end the dwarves were still overwhelmed by the orc and ogre hordes.

Destan, any comments?


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## Lela (Jul 5, 2003)

I'm happy to inform you that I was somewhat scarred on your behalf when the dragon came up out of the water.  I mean, it's a dragon.  With Destan in control.

The Shark was an excellent idea.  Kudos to Kenzar once again.



			
				Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *
> 
> And no, the ghosts didn't really explain themselves very well.
> 
> *




Ah, who ever expects to understand what a ghost says?  Last time I heard one speak was something about giant fireballs and wagons filled with Alchamist's Fire.  They never make any sense, really.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 9, 2003)

*Hammer 17* 

I had a very strange dream last night, so much so that when I awoke I asked the others, and they too had it.

I clung precariously to the highest boughs of a towering cloudtree.  My companions, I saw, were near me – pressed against the bark of the tree like babes to mother's breast.  The wind was deafening; the whole world threatened to be swept away.  The groaning of the trees around me was audible, and terrible to behold.  Branches, thick as Formyrian spears, snapped like so much tinder and went tumbling through the crackling air.  I cried out, yet could not hear my own voice from the fury of the storm.  Charcoal clouds, angry and black, streaked across the heavens at impossible speeds, like so many giant birds of prey.  The smell of coming rain was ominous and thick.  Thunder rolled like a paean to the Old Gods.  I grasped at the wood and trembled from fear and awe.

Below me, all around me, the forest writhed.  I saw cloudtrees in all directions, hundreds upon thousands.  There was no end to the woodland canopy.  Far, far in the distance the horizon was muted by gray rain storms.  The world smelled like a birthing bed – heady, bloody, fresh.

A figure emerged from the stormclouds, plummeting towards me.  It was an elf.  An elf of a race I had never seen.  He was tall, taller than the most massive Gordian.  His face was smooth and spoke of arrogance and cruelty, of power and terror.  He smiled, his lips thin, and seemed unperturbed by nature's primordial fury.  Indeed, he appeared to relish it.

Glistening armor the color of an angry river encased his perfect form.  A pair of swords were thrust through a sash at his waste; they caught the brightness of the lightning in the firmament high above.

He spoke and his voice cut through the winds without faltering.  “This Age is ending.  The Heroes are no more.  It will be a time of Forests now, a time of Elves.  These great trees will sink into the earth and the Weedsea will hold sway here.  Soon thereafter, a time of Men.  

“Yet there are those who would cling to their Power, who would not go Away.  These are those same who now hunt you, mortals.  Tremble under their gaze.”

I wrapped my arms further about the branches of the cloudtree, seeking succor from his terrible words and the growing storm.  “Find me.  Find me thousands of years from this time.  I will go into the breast of Jann near the citadel you will know as Formyr.  Look for the sign.  Look for three stunted trees.  Then burrow into Jann's breast as I must do.  I would arm you, I would lend hope to your cause.

“But only if you prove worthy of my aid - I do not treat with beggars.”


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## Cinerarium (Jul 9, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *The Shark was an excellent idea.  Kudos to Kenzar once again.*




Actually Lela, it was Fineon's shark, though still a dang good idea.

We played last night, for the first time in about two months.  Soooo good.  Many of these loose threads were tied up, or at least grouped together nicely.  And it occurs to me I'm way behind on my posting; I've got about 56 or so of the 70 pages in my journal up so far... and that 70 number doesn't include the last two days of Tryn's life, which have been very entertaining to say the least.

Crises of faith, climactic encounters, death and betrayal... like I said, it was soooo good.


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## Destan (Jul 9, 2003)

Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *In typical Kazir fashion he waited patiently for his turn to speak, hearing from all sides and points before responding.  “Good dwarves, I have heard that you value plain speech so I will not mince words.  You have read our reasons for being here correctly.  We sought out Durgeddin’s lair of old to search for his legendary arms.  You have also tested our hearts and we have done you a great favor.  If you do indeed have the power to return our friend from the dead then I ask that for MY reward.  I have no need of steel weapons, no matter how fine.  My friends have earned the choice of arms you promised them.
> 
> “As for your restrictions on Durgeddin’s artifice leaving these halls, I ask why?  In the hands of heroes, how many more orcs could be slain?  Ten?  Twenty?  One hundred?  Certainly more than lying lost and unused in some forgotten cavern.  If Durgeddin were here would this not be his wish?  His weapons, his revenge, could be eternal.
> 
> ...




I think those are my favorite paragraphs so far.  Unless your DM is a miserly bastard, he should have given Kazir bonus XP's for his idea and Tryn bonus XP's for recounting it - so eloquently - here.  

D


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## frostrune (Jul 9, 2003)

> I think those are my favorite paragraphs so far. Unless your DM is a miserly bastard, he should have given Kazir bonus XP's for his idea and Tryn bonus XP's for recounting it - so eloquently - here.




Yeah that would have been nice.  Too bad Destan is a miserly bastard.

Heh.

frostrune


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## Lela (Jul 10, 2003)

Okay, you've got a Prophecy on your hands and an invitation to an allience with a powerful Outsider.  Those are always bad things.

For PCs that is.  For the players themselves (and the DM), there can be much fun.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 10, 2003)

frostrune said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Yeah that would have been nice.  Too bad Destan is a miserly bastard.
> 
> ...




Yay!  Kazir makes his appearance on the board!  All bow down at his wisdom!

I seriously got to get this board all caught up with the game, but no time for updates until next week.  Sorry!

Cin


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## Cinerarium (Jul 14, 2003)

*Hammer 17, cont.*

We awoke from the shared dream to the sounds of muffled conversation at the outer set of doors.  I have been dreading what would happen when we left this chamber for the outside world, knowing that we would likely face an ambush outside.  Knowing that they were outside right now, we decided to lay an ambush ourselves.

I called upon Deneir, blessed be His name, to give me insight into the thoughts of our foes on the other side of the doors.  Concentrating for a few moments, I determined that there were not many awaiting us, perhaps five.  One of them, that I guessed was the leader, was frustrated with the others.  He was sure we were inside the room, but his companions were too scared to enter.  As a compromise, they were waiting for us outside for the time being.

Toth and Fineon took positions near the doors as I readied my crossbow and blessed the group.  Fin also buffed himself with the power of his faith, and Kazir readied his own ghostly armor.  On cue, Fin caused the doors to slide open.  Our first attacks to our enemies were by surprise, and my crossbow bolt sunk deeply into an orc waiting outside!  I had managed to finally kill a foe in combat!

The others made quick work of the rest of the enemies.  Their leader, a human wizard of some kind, was taken alive but unconscious.  Quickly, we bound and gagged him, and pulled the bodies into the room, letting the doors close again.  If any of their friends come to investigate, they will only find bloody trails leading into the room they know is filled with death.

Quickly we descended again to where we had narrowly survived out fight with the dragon.  Hopping carefully along the stones in the pond, we came closer to the island.  It looked to be the dragon’s nest, and also the setting for a stone sarcophagus.  Coins littered the ground around the sarcophagus, along with a number of items bearing Durgeddin’s mark.  Swiftly we packed all of the loot, carefully avoiding the sarcophagus, that I could see had the dwarven rune “D” inscribed upon it.  We wished to leave Durgeddin in peace.

By the time we returned to the elemental chamber, our guest had awoken on the pile of orc bodies where we had left him.  He looked mortified at our appearance.  A tense questioning followed.  This Morgulio, a Pellman originally from Formyr, said that he and his fellow wizard that we had slain when we first entered the caverns, what seems an eternity ago, had taken up residence here to do research and perhaps found a school for other wizards.  He said he would do us no harm, and that his men, now dead, were the last of the defenders of this place in the upper warrens.  Now we had to decide what to do with him.

Toth and Fineon were in favor of killing him, then and there.  Kazir was ambivalent, and I wished to let him go.  Finally I persuaded my companions that he no longer posed a threat to us.  I think this may have caused Toth to lose some respect for me, but I could not in good conscience allow a man to be killed in cold blood.  I made Morgulio swear that he would hurt no others, except in self defense; that he would return to Pell, and give us whatever information we sought when we asked in the future; and that he would send one thousand gold pieces, that he said he had, to the Temple of Deneir in Harren in our names.  

I feel some trepidation that he would keep his word, but I think that he may prove to be a valuable ally.  We set out then, confidant we had cleaned out Khundrakar and would be rewarded well by Lord Macon.

Oh, how good it felt to breathe fresh air again!  To hear the pine trees sway in the breeze!  To feel the cold tang of winter air in Luc Valu!  I had been far too long in the depths.

It occurred to Kazir at this point that our ride back to Harren, Peb the fisherman, would long since have given up looking for us.  Morgulio came to our aid, revealing the location of two skiffs that he and his companions had used to get here.  We camped for the night at the foot of Khundrakar.


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## Lela (Jul 14, 2003)

I hope that Wizard works out for you.  They can be powerful allies if they don't turn on you.


What happened to the dragon?  Did he decide to avoid you instead of coming back?


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## Cinerarium (Jul 15, 2003)

*Hammer 18*

A disagreement this morning, as we again pressed Morgulio for his oath to not betray us.  This morning we were able to use divine magic to press him for the truth.  Unfortunately, the magic did us little good, as none of it could bind him to a promise, and so we eventually decided to let him go, naked in the wilderness.  Out of kindness, Kazir returned the wizard’s spellbook, having copied the few spells he could use from it.  

We made good progress, and camp now on the shore.  We should reach the skiffs tomorrow.

*Hammer 19*

We found the dhows at the end of the day.  We will set out tomorrow for Harren.

Our encounter with the dragon recently reminded me of the scroll I received from Brother Omad some time ago.  I include a copy here for those interested:



> Being an Excerpt from the Fourth Volume of Archmage Destan the Grim's Scaled Tome, as presented at the 1344 DR Shieldmeet, Covenshire, Valudia
> 
> "...and so perished the last of the noble and good dragons within Ostia Prim.  Since that time, during the ending of the Age of Forests, never has mankind seen a good dragon alive upon these lands.
> 
> ...


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## Cinerarium (Jul 15, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *I hope that Wizard works out for you.  They can be powerful allies if they don't turn on you.
> 
> 
> What happened to the dragon?  Did he decide to avoid you instead of coming back? *




Well you know the fate of the wizard, and with this post know we're scared of the dragon as well.  I think he was wounded enough and without healing magic to not pursue us immediately.  Since then we've traveled as a group or been in large cities, so if he's after us then he'll have to wait until we do something foolish, or hire people.

Don't give Destan ideas though!


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## pogre (Jul 16, 2003)

I sense betrayal is a theme Destan is most comfortable with

I wish you and the others good luck!


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## Cinerarium (Jul 17, 2003)

*Hammer 22*

Early in the morning Fin waved his hand back at Toth and me in the other skiff.  “Harren lies ahead!” he called out.

My spirit lifted, glad to be back in civilization after so long, craving a bath and clean clothes.  The nits in my hair had been driving me to distraction, and the cold damp of our river journey was giving me a cough.

Soon enough we pulled up our skiffs to an empty berth and hopped ashore, Toth and Fineon carrying the bulk of our goods.  We moved to quickly get away from the docks and into the crowds before any trouble could spot us, but were too late to avoid a pair of dock wardens, hurrying towards us.  

“Ho there!” the elder one called, his grimy mustache quivering under his red, bulbous nose.  “What have we here?  A strange troupe indeed!”  His lackey cohort grinned and nodded.  

“Hello, my good dockward.  My thanks for welcoming us back to Harren.  I suppose we’ll be on our way now…”  I moved to pass on by.

“Hold up a moment, son.  Let’s see what you’re bringing back into the Sevencity with ye.  You know the rules, there’s a tax on all that enters the city.”

“We have little wealth, my good man, and my companions and I are in a great hurry.”  I lowered my voice conspiratorially.  “Can I simply give you ten crowns and call it even?”

The old guard’s eyes widened a bit.  “If you can part with ten, you can surely part with twenty five.”

I cursed myself for opening too high.  “Always open low when making an offer, young Pater,” Wynt the Pellman had told me when I used to frequent the docks with my father.  “You can always go higher, but it’s impossible to go back, and it’ll give your adversary too much of your inner mind.”

“Fifteen’s the absolute highest I can afford,” I deadpanned, thinking of the tens of thousands of coins in wealth we carried.

He looked us over.  “Well, fifteen’s a reasonable entry fee, and I’d hate to delay you.”  He took the proffered coins.  As I began to leave, he put a grimy hand on my chest.  “You wouldn’t be carrying any narcotics, now, would ye?”  

A trickle of sweat began to build in my armpits, thinking of the Tears of Lys Fin had in his pack.  “What kind of smuggler do you take me for?  I’ve paid your graft, now leave me be!”  With a sneer, I passed him by.  The penalties for narcotics smuggling in Harren are quite high.

Now inside the city, we decided it best to quickly bathe, eat, and proceed to Lord Macon’s with all haste.  Arriving again at his estate in the Coinsward, Miralda greeted us and showed us back into Lord Macon’s study.  What a change in surroundings a few days can bring!  Where recently I had been sleeping on cold stone amidst the corpses of orcs, now I sat at ease by a crackling fire in the comfortable study of a Lord!  

I’ll spare you the details of the negotiations that took place, save to say that we disposed of a number of the late Durgeddin’s horde with Lord Macon, and reaped a nice bounty.  Several items we kept for ourselves though, and I believe all sides were pleased with the transaction.  I even managed to convince Lord Macon to agree to allow Deneirites to study the dwarven runes I had found in various places in Khundrakar, so long as they vowed to remove nothing.

We left, lighter in items but significantly heavier in coin.  The skies were quickly growing dark and a cold wind blew through Harren, promising snow overnight.  I begged off from my companions, saying that I would meet them in the morning at the Temple.  Instead of proceeding directly there, I made haste to the guard tower, also in the Coinsward, to see if Sergeant Sheptin was in.  I wanted to see how the old Sergeant was doing, and buy him a drink if he was coming off duty.

By the time I made the few blocks to the tower, I could see the guards changing for the night shift, a number coming and going.  I made eye contact with one who looked decent.  “Excuse me, but I’m looking for Sergeant Sheptin.  Do you know if he’s coming on duty now?”

The guardsman looked me up and down.  I had changed into a new courtier’s outfit and cloak following my bath, but was bundled up well against the foul weather, my cough still plaguing me.  “The Sergeant’s not in the city now,” he said, and moved to walk on past.

“I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but might you know when he’ll be back?”

“He’s on city business; I wouldn’t know.  Good eve.”

I remembered now that Sheptin said he took his family down to Cymeria every winter when he had time off.  I suppose that’s where he is.  

I returned to the Temple, greeted the brothers at vigil, asked for a meeting with Omad in the morning, and went to the temple pantry.  I ran into Brother Ells Three Words there, and we decided to split a loaf of bread and some salted meat.  I helped myself to some cider and we settled in for a chat.  The old man is very likable, and I found myself listening to his yarns until quite late, when I was deep into my cups, and he had nodded off in the middle of a story.  I put a blanket over him and stumbled to my room, my head clear enough to write this tale.


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## Tellerve (Jul 19, 2003)

K, all caught up now Cin, so you gotta start writing some more 

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Jul 21, 2003)

*Hammer 23, Temple of Deneir, Harren* 

I write this before I head out for the evening.  I contacted Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria, members of the Harrenhal guard that had led me to Sheptin and will meet up with them shortly to see how they have been, and whether they know of anything to do with Sheptin, or any other interesting occurrences in the city since we last talked.

As promised, I met with Omad Five-Crossings this morning in his office, the Aradeeti greeting me warmly and asking for any news I might have.  I related the story of my journey, and he agreed to again have the copy of my journal kept in the Temple updated to reflect its current state.  He seemed intrigued by Macon’s offer to study the runes in Khundrakar, though he did not know if there were any Deneirites to spare for such a journey, particularly since it could be dangerous, and the dragon may have returned.

He mentioned that two days past he had been leaving the Temple to scribe some messages for Lordling Asidric when he spotted a man matching Sir Gorful’s description across the square from him, but that the man was gone by the time he got there.  I am still somewhat troubled that we have not found Gorful ourselves.

Shortly after that meeting I met with Toth, Kazir, and Fineon for breakfast, and brought up the subject of Gorful.  Kazir agreed with me, and Fineon mentioned that he should be able to try to divine Gorful’s location on the morrow.  In the meantime, we agreed to spend the rest of the day selling some of our newfound items, buying more, and generally ridding ourselves of most of our cash.  Kazir and Fineon were planning on scribing scrolls and crafting items, and I also planned to scribe a few scrolls as time permitted.

At the end of the day we divided the leftover cash, and I took the Tears of Lys for myself, mumbling that I would find a buyer and took it as my share.  Kazir raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

I leave now, but I shall write in the morning what befell with Mott and Rikard.

*Hammer 24* 

My head would surely be pounding right now were it not for a skillful use of an orison after my morning prayers.  Rikard and Mott know how to have a good time in the Sevencity!

I met with them at the Tourney Tavern, and we caught up over roast mutton, stuffed chicken, bread, gravy, some stewed vegetables in a beef broth, and several tankards of mead.  I brought up Sheptin early on, and they congenially expressed some concern that he was not to be found.  They had not known he had left, and admitted they weren’t sure where he lived.  Apparently they had only served with him for a short time before being transferred to the Harrenhal a few months prior.  

We continued from the Tourney to several other taverns in the area, finally ending up in a raucous bordello, where I think (I cannot remember for sure) that the three of us and several of the girls wound up dancing on the tables to a quartet of bards’ music, until, drunkenly, I fell and broke through a window.  

At times like that, I am very glad to have found these new friends in the guards.  Were not Mott and Rikard there with me, I surely would have spent a night in some dank prison.  Instead we got off with a mild scolding from the officer on watch and the demand to include him next time.

I believe today I will take things a bit more slowly.  I’m curious to talk with Clifticus at the Oghmite Library and see if he has any news of Brother Linden’s death or the Sect of Cuth.  I also hope to do some research on the figure in my dream, who I presume is one of the heroes who died at the beginning of the Age of Forests.  Time permitting, tonight I will scribe a scroll.

*Hammer 24, Evening*

I returned from the library late this evening.  Clifticus seemed happy to see me, though it appears little more has been discovered considering the portents surrounding us.  Some progress has been made in the search for Linden’s killers, however, as the result of the investigations Tyr’s faithful.  The paladins believe that the deed was done by an elven rogue with ties to the Harbor Hands, one of the two main thieves’ guilds in Harren.  The motive remains a mystery, as does the elf’s whereabouts.

I wonder if they could actually be referring to Avoril d’Lantern, the half-elf that Fineon met in the docks who led Fineon to the location of the body in the first place.  Avoril claimed that he saw two elderly humans, a male and female in black robes, dump the body under the docks.  I am more of the opinion that the humans were behind the killing, though I suppose it is possible they hired an elf to do the deed for them.  I must remember to ask Fineon to look for this Avoril when he has a chance.

My research on the dream led nowhere for the moment, but I shall return tomorrow.


----------



## Cinerarium (Jul 21, 2003)

Tellerve said:
			
		

> *K, all caught up now Cin, so you gotta start writing some more
> 
> Tellerve *




Ask and ye shall receive.  Tellerve, it's good to have you back on the boards!  

This last post and the next couple of posts are summing up the down time between gaming sessions.  Tryn's been busy trying to tie up loose ends.  I think I might have pushed Destan a bit too far with my constant barrage of emails.  One started out with a laundry list of the people Tryn wanted to look up as soon as we got back into Harren.  I think Destan regretted giving names to as many NPCs as he did.

One of my longer term goals with Tryn, DM allowing, is to get a network of informants and contacts who'll funnel him information about the movers and shakers of the world.  So far it's been rough going in that department, because we're getting swept up in events so much.  I'm at the point with Tryn where I'm starting to abandon some of my earlier character concepts about him to reflect better what's going on in the campaign.  A risk I suppose of planning out your character too much is that sometimes that plan doesn't fit what's going on.  Time will tell.


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## Lela (Jul 21, 2003)

Ah, we find the curse of such a player as yourself amid the blessings.  While you write the campaign down yourself you also remember all these names we DMs give to NPCs.

And to think how quick I feel when I think of a name for the shopkeeper (Theg the half-Dwarf---he won't tell what the other half is but there are suspicions) on the spot.  I'd better watch out.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 24, 2003)

*Hammer 25*

Again I write before the end of the day, as soon I will leave to see how old Brom the Belly at Happy Harlan’s is these days.  He may have seen Gorful, and I would talk with the man.

First though I must relate the sad news that Gorful is most likely dead.  Fineon met with me earlier today, and told me the results of his circle dance for Gorful.  No trace of Gorful could be found, and Fineon believes the kind man is dead.  The news distressed me so much that I forgot to mention the possible connection of Avoril to the death of Bjorn Linden, and Fineon left before I could talk more with him.  Fin did mention that he had also done a circle dance to locate Chardin, the mere name causing a chill to run down my spine.  He, at least, appears to be in perfect health and living somewhere in Harren or west of here.  

At least my work at the library today yielded positive results.  I found a name and a description in the manual of a cultist obsessed with the near-divine heroes of that ancient age.  Alandindion of the Blossoming Storm was a hero who matched the description I recalled.  Alandindion’s tomb, perhaps, lies somewhere near Formyr then.  Fascinating.  I believe I have found all I can at the library, and must spend my energies elsewhere.  I am to meet tomorrow with Kazir and Fin, when we will decide our next steps.

In the meantime, I leave for Happy Harlan’s.

*Hammer 26*

On my way to Harlan’s last night I saw a group of urchins outside the temple, waiting for the scraps from our kitchen that are given out after the cook is done preparing dinner for us.  An idea struck me and I got their attention.  I gave out a handful of silver pieces, hating myself for using the innocent children in this way, but I knew that it was better than they’d otherwise have, so I pushed my doubts aside.

“There’s more where this came from,” I said, “but I need something in return.  There’s a man I’m looking for… and it’s quite likely he’s dead.  But I’m interested in finding out for sure, and I would like to give him a decent burial if his body is still to be found.  The first one of you who finds him and can prove it gets five crowns.  If a group of you finds him, we can negotiate a deal.  I’ll come here every day before high sun, so if you find him, be here at that time.  Tell others as well.”

I proceeded to give those that looked interested as thorough a description of Gorful as I could remember, and prayed to Tymora that they would find him, and to Kelemvor that he would find rest.  

I pondered their chances of finding Gorful as my feet led me to Harlan’s.  At some point I noticed I was coming upon the Orchard Cemetery, and decided the least I could do for old Bagulf was treat him to a bottle of Margiven Mead on my way by.  He was extremely grateful and invited me to sit with him a bit.  We shared a cup of mead and talked small talk of the city.  Since Kazir, Toth, and I had cleared out the necromancer more visitors were coming to the Apple mausoleum, our actions having gained it some notoriety, and Bagulf a few more visitors.  I could tell that he was reluctant to share any more of the mead than he had to, however, so I made my apologies and left before the hour was too late.

At Harlan’s, Hara looked up and scowled when I came in through the door, but she paid me no mind.  The stench had not improved since my last visit, but I ignored that as I found my way over to Brom.  He was happy to drink my coins away and trade lies with me for hours.  He had not seen Gorful, but he had apparently witnessed an amazing encounter between a paladin of Ilmater, three harlots, and a donkey.  I mentioned Sergeant Sheptin idly, not thinking that Brom would even know the name, but he surprised me.  “Ah, the lad's in a wee bit 'o trouble methinks.  Heard he was forced to take some time away from the Harrenguard.  Not sure why.”

Unfortunately Brom knew little else, other than a hilarious story concerning two Apian Legionnaires and a cow with its head stuck in a fence.  I took a rickshaw back to the Temple late in the evening.

I met the guys over lunch today after waiting near the Temple for some time before high sun.  They seemed to be proceeding well in their respective endeavors.  I went over everything I had learned so far, and that I needed a few more days to see if the urchins turned anything up.  I have mostly given up on finding anything out on Gorful at this point, sad as it is.  We talked at length, and eventually, mostly at Kazir’s suggestion, decided to pursue Alandindion’s tomb in Formyr.  We would meet on Midwinter morning and leave then, giving us enough time to finish our scribing, crafting, and investigating before leaving.

While scribing a scroll this afternoon I became increasingly distracted with the amount of time that has passed since I last had the acquaintance of the fairer sex.  Deneir offers us little guidance on this point, though many of his sages have stressed that in the great emotions of love, we are likely to find the words that would best fit the Metatext.

Part of the problem is surely that to date I lack a suitable location for any romantic encounters with women of the right sort.  The Temple is hardly a suitable location for such a tryst, and I recoil at the thought of bedding a harlot like those Mott and Rikard introduced me to. 

I resolve now to redouble my efforts to improve my station here in Harren.  And I admit that my reasons are mainly to find an acceptable woman.  I shall let tonight be the first night.  Lord Macon’s servant, Miralda, had mentioned an inn in the Coinsward that she said Lord Macon enjoyed dining at.  I shall go there tonight and see what I can see.


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## Lela (Jul 24, 2003)

Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *
> 
> He had not seen Gorful, but he had apparently witnessed an amazing encounter between a paladin of Ilmater, three harlots, and a donkey. *




YOINK!!


Beautifil writing Cinerarium.  Thanks.


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## Destan (Jul 24, 2003)

> *
> Unfortunately Brom knew little else, other than a hilarious story concerning two Apian Legionnaires and a cow with its head stuck in a fence.
> *




There's always this one, too.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 28, 2003)

*Hammer 27*

Troubling news today from the urchins.  One of them, Ugliol, introduced me to a girl of perhaps eleven that he claimed was his cousin.  This girl, Duena, told me that she had seen a man matching Gorful’s description about a week ago, around the time when Omad had spotted him.  She had begged a coin from Gorful, who had thrown her a crust of bread from the loaf he had been chewing.  Shortly thereafter, a man matching Chardin’s description approached Gorful and began talking with him.  Soon the two were smiling like old friends, and Gorful followed Chardin away.

Damn that man!  He has followed our every step, and continues to block our way!  Now I must fear for the safety of all who know of what happened with Lordling Macon.  Clifticus and the Deneirites are probably safe in the Temples, but who knows if Chardin will strike at them.  And I must also remember Bugdul, the orc Toth claims waits for us outside the Harren gates.

But back to last night’s outing.  It was with serious trepidation I entered the Stargaze Inn last night, alone.  I found a place at the bar, and was soon in conversation with several other patrons my age or older.  They introduced me to some of their other friends, who were looking for a place with some “more excitement,” and invited me along.

I happily followed, liking these companions whose names I will exclude for the moment.  We happened into another tavern in the Coinsward, where I was shocked at the price of wine, though I managed to hide it.  My companions took to me quickly enough, though, and I found them good drinking partners.  At one point, as we sat on low chairs around a candlelit table, a delightful young lady on my lap (I say young, but in truth she was at least five years my senior), one complained how the crowd at the tavern that night was less than thrilling.  I expressed my innocence as a relative newcomer to Harren, and asked where the nightlife was better.  He mentioned a place called “the Kitchen,” but was quickly shushed by his friends.  The conversation changed, and we never returned to that subject.  I shall have to discover more about this “Kitchen.”

*Hammer 28*

Yesterday, before leaving on another excursion, I penned a letter to my father, included here for reference:



> _To Rolg Pater, Cymeria	Hammer 27, 1362 D.R._
> 
> Dear Father,
> 
> ...




Later in the evening I left again to find out more about the “Kitchen.”  A few well-placed inquiries with one of those I had made the night before, the Lordling Kevolio Rulios, made of course in confidence, after several drinks, netted me some fascinating information.  He was the one who had mentioned the Kitchen, and after I promised to pick up the tab on an evening’s drinking, he agreed to go along with me.  After several rounds, when I was near to fainting myself, he finally opened up.

On Opulio St (there’s that name again!) there is a horrid little ramshackle tavern named, simply enough, the Soup Kitchen.  Only the most nefarious and foul-smelling denizens of Harren frequent its environs.  The swill they serve is vile, and the food inedible.

However, (and this I find hard to believe) the rear wall of the Kitchen abuts what appears to be an empty tannery warehouse on the adjacent street.  This building, however, is apparently one of the most opulent and exclusive clubs in the city.  Only the finest priced harlots work those rooms, though not all the love making is for profit, as many upstanding gentlemen and ladies take their paramours there to escape the public eye (often arriving in covered carriages to the Kitchen, then being ushered – hooded and cloaked – through the hidden rear wall, if the story is to be believed).

The owner of the Kitchen, one Fink the Walrus, takes his job seriously.  The carriages are quickly hidden and well-guarded.  Anyone asking too many questions is quickly beaten senseless, and a second transgression results in death.

Finally (and this I believe is the key), the warehouse acts as a central place for the upscale black market – narcotics and other unsavory magical items are always for sale.

My acquaintance stared at me numbly for a minute when I suggested that I would like to join such a club – that as an adventurer, traveler, and epicurean I could not resist the lure.  After another round of shots and further negotiations, I revealed that I could come into possession of some Tears of Lys, if that would help in the bargain.  At this his eyebrows rose.  He leaned forward, the alcohol heavy on his breath.  “I… er… a friend of mine… would be very interested in procuring that.  I could… I mean, he could… sponsor you into the club, in exchange for such a gift.”

“Well, of course such a gift would be extraordinarily expensive for me to acquire, but your friends are my friends.  I suppose, in exchange for sponsorship and a year’s membership fees, I could arrange it.  For you.”  Suddenly I am a drug dealer.  Well, who am I to comment on another’s habits, so long as nobody else gets hurt?

“A year!” he exclaimed, then looked around nervously and settled back in, sipping another shot and grimacing.  “I could do… four months?”  I knew I had him now.  He was almost pleading with me, though despite the alcohol he was hardly phased, now that we were coming into a serious conversation.  From talking with Fineon, I have realized that those sad addicts of alcohol can act almost completely normally, even when heavily intoxicated.

“Six months, and you’ve got a deal, friend.”  I offered my hand.

“Done,” he said, though I could tell we would never be friends, and he would likely never speak to me again after this.


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## Lela (Jul 28, 2003)

An exclusive club, filled with illicet illicets, and frequiented by nobles.

YOINK!

Wow, there's so much that could be done with that.  I'd better pop open a Word doc and start writing down these ideas. . .


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## Tellerve (Jul 29, 2003)

Sounds like a quaint little franchise of the Red Temple from your campaign Cin.  Ahh, the Red Temple *grins wickedly*

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Jul 29, 2003)

*Midwinter, the Road to Formyr*

I awoke long before dawn this morning, the anticipation of the coming journey overwhelming.  Who is this Alandindion?  What will we find in Formyr?  Does Bugdul indeed await us outside of Harren?  Will our enemy pursue us thither?  

Steam rose from our mouths as we silently greeted each other in the square outside of the temple.  We had procured a wagon and some horses for the journey, in part to blend in and in part to give us a quiet place to rest during the trip.  If the weather held, we faced a four day trip to Formyr across the Jann Plains, skirting to the south of the Cotswolds.  

Fineon suggested that we leave by the south gate, then circle around and proceed west to Formyr, to hopefully throw off any watchers the enemy had on the gates, and buy us some time.  We mingled in with the early morning traffic heading out of Harren for the bridge to Purseton or points further south (Cymeria!  How I miss it!).  The guards at the gate gave us some bother, taking an inventory of our items so we could avoid tax on them on the return, and also our names.

We spent the majority of the day circling the walls of the Sevencity, and by noon a pale sun broke through the grey skies, giving a white glow to the skies above and the snow-covered fallow fields below.  Traffic around the city, primarily merchants on their way from Cymeria to Formyr who wished to avoid paying the gate taxes of Harren, joined our wagon, and our progress was good.

I had some time to consider my dealings concerning the Kitchen.  I can only hope the seeds planted will bear fruit in the future.  My only concern is that the Lordling should fall into trouble and disclose my name as the source of his drug.  At least now I will have a place to retire with a confidante, should I ever find one in the city.  Also, I am intrigued to note who else frequents the Kitchen.  I understand prying too obsequiously will likely lead me to a quick death, but my curiosity is itching to know!

*Alturiak 3, East of Formyr*

After noon, Zazu spotted four horsemen rapidly gaining on us from the east.  They were wearing armor and looked grim from how the owl described them via Kazir.  We found a rock outcropping off the side of the road where we could hide the wagon, and prepared an ambush if they turned off the road as well.

Nervously we waited, shivering in the north wind that blew out of the Cotswolds.  Toth’s heavy breathing, and the nervous stamping of the horses echoed the pounding of my own heart.  We could not see the road from our position, only the approach from it, and were ready to unleash hell on any that came near.  

“They approach where we turned off the road…” Kazir whispered, communicating with his familiar circling over head.  “They’re slowing.  One has dismounted, and is checking the ground.  He’s gotten back onto his horse.  They’re riding away, towards Formyr.”

We waited nervously for another hour as Zazu followed them.  Eventually he returned.  “They’ve continued west,” Kazir said, stroking the mottled white feathers of his owl companion.  “We should be cautious for an ambush, ourselves.”

*Alturiak 4, Formyr*

Kazir sent Zazu aloft in the grey light of another chill dawn on the road.  Toth doused the fire in a manner that always makes him laugh and show his broken teeth.  Kazir and I got into the wagon, Toth and Fin mounted their horses, and off we went.  

Around high sun Kazir reported that Zazu had spotted the riders from the day before.  They were about an hour ahead of us, he estimated, and still headed for Formyr.  We guessed at their motives for some time.  Could they be Bugdul and his minions?  If so, how had they known we had left Harren?  Perhaps the guard at the southern gate who had taken our names, or one of his associates, had given us up?  Perhaps the elders who hired Bugdul and murdered Brother Linden hired others to watch all of the gates of Harren?  Perhaps these riders were only couriers of some kind, completely unrelated to us.  Unfortunately, we could not know until we caught up with them, and met whatever fate lay ahead of us.

The sun was lowering in the sky but still overhead when Fineon spotted them, a dozen spikes glinting on the far horizon.  As we neared, I could see them, the legendary spires of Formyr.  Overlooking the Jann Plain, these towers were said to be ancient, from the Age of Heroes, and their kind could no longer be built in Valusia.  Extremely slender, they rose to a good forty stories, if the rumors were true, and were still in use to this day.  Watchmen there could alert Formyr’s famous cavalry far in advance of an enemy assault.

While I was admiring the distant view, still several miles off, Kazir got my attention.  “The riders,” he said in his customary deadpan, “have stopped in the forest ahead.  Wait, now they continue.”  

We raised our guard as we approached the forest.  Zazu returned from scouting and silently joined Kazir and me in the wagon.  Fin called out from in front of us, his keen vision scanning the approaching woods, “A man waits in the trees ahead, with… a large dog.  He wears a grey cloak over leather armor, and has two scimitars in his sash.”

We readied ourselves.  Could this be an agent of the enemy?  Or a possible friend?  Now I could just make his shadow out, the trees in front of us blocking the low sun.  “His eyes are strange… lifeless,” Fin said, ominously.


----------



## Cinerarium (Jul 29, 2003)

Tellerve said:
			
		

> *Sounds like a quaint little franchise of the Red Temple from your campaign Cin.  Ahh, the Red Temple *grins wickedly*
> 
> Tellerve *




Tell's referring to a similar den of ill-repute in my own campaign.

I shamelessly stole the idea of the Red Temple from Fred Saberhagen's books of swords that I read a long, long, long time ago.  But then I modified it and put my own twists on the subject.  Someday when Tell and everyone gets to play my own campaign for awhile, I might post some story hours from it.  Who knows?

But yes, I get the feeling that the Kitchen is similar.  Hopefully Tryn will get to actually go there soon, when we get back from Formyr. 

For those of you following along, the story hour is now within fourteen pages of where I've got the journal up to, which is itself probably about five pages back from how far we've gotten in the campaign to date.  So all in all pretty close.  In fact, I'd say we're only about two or three days in game time back, in the journal.  A lot happens in that time though.

And we're playing tomorrow night, so who knows how far back I'll be at that point.  But I'm catching up.

Thanks for reading.  Your suggestions and comments always bring a smile to my face.


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## Destan (Jul 29, 2003)

Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *
> Toth doused the fire in a manner that always makes him laugh and show his broken teeth.
> *




Ah, man...it's little near-hidden gems like these that cause me to read, and re-read, your updates.  Though I know nothing "action-oriented" occurred in your most recent post, I think it was one of the best ones yet.  

I find myself reading these updates, Cin, as if seeing these scenes for the first time - and thoroughly enjoying that fact.

D


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## Riley (Jul 29, 2003)

Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *
> 
> For those of you following along, the story hour is now within fourteen pages of where I've got the journal up to, which is itself probably about five pages back from how far we've gotten in the campaign to date.  *




Funny... my copy of Tryn's Journal ends with us still in Harren.

How am I supposed to remember the name of the gnomish innkeeper if the scribe won't share his notes?  

See you tonight...

- Riley



			
				Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *...Riley bravely tumbled into the room amidst the ghouls.  In horror, I saw them all turn their fanged maws his way.  Before any of us could get to him, he was eaten alive by the ghoulish creatures!  I shall be haunted by the image of his demise, eaten alive, his mouth paralyzed in a silent scream as his throat was ripped open by the unhallowed fangs of ghouls.*


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## Tellerve (Jul 29, 2003)

hmm, mysterious two scimitar wielding guy in the woods...kill drizzt!! kill him!  Just kidding, I know this campaign is too good to have him in it.

Good update, nice imagery as Destan said.  Looking forward to those combats you told me about awhile ago.

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Jul 29, 2003)

Riley said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Funny... my copy of Tryn's Journal ends with us still in Harren.
> 
> ...




Riley, there should be a more recent version on our website (sorry for polluting the thread everybody else).

Even that's not fully up to date though.  I'll post a better version when in the next couple days.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 29, 2003)

Oh, and Riley, the innkeep's name was Melvin.  Sorry, forgot to mention that.

To the other two of you reading this, that name will make sense in a few posts.

Thanks for reading!
Cin


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## Lela (Jul 30, 2003)

I count as at least three people.  I'm almost insulted here.

Well, almost.

But I do agree with Destan.  I was on the edge of my seet throughout that update.  There was a tension there that's hard to create in writing.  Very well done.


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## Tellerve (Jul 30, 2003)

Well Cin doesn't probably count Destan, being as he is the DM, and me, seeing as I'm an old friend of Cin's and soon to be player in campaign he's going to run.  As such I think he thinks it is sorta a given for me to read this stuff 

Tellerve


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## Cinerarium (Jul 30, 2003)

*Odds and Ends*

Sorry, I should've counted Lela's multiple personalities.  My bad.

We just played last night, and it rocked!  Old enemies, and the group really starting to come together in terms of combat abilities and spells.  Another great Destan adventure!  I've got to get this all caught up to the current sessions.

It was also our first time playing 3.5, and we generally gave the system thumbs up all around.

I'll get an update out tonight if all goes well, and probably one tomorrow.

Thanks for the compliments on the writing style!  I'm trying to improve as I go along.  Feedback from all of you on the boards and the other guys in the group is great motivation.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 30, 2003)

Tellerve said:
			
		

> *Well Cin doesn't probably count Destan, being as he is the DM, and me, seeing as I'm an old friend of Cin's and soon to be player in campaign he's going to run.  As such I think he thinks it is sorta a given for me to read this stuff *




Can you tell Tellerve's itching to play?  

I'll probably start up another thread on that campaign once we get a couple of sessions in.  Right now it's in the proto-stages where we're just starting to get the characters established.  They haven't even met each other yet, and it's kind of a strange format to play in.  But that's for another thread.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 30, 2003)

Ok, last non-story post today, I promise (I'm throwing off my post/page count ratio!)

Check out Riley's post up above.  Destan pointed out at the game last night that our friend Riley (playing Fineon in the current storyline) has his "location" as Luvios's Tomb.  Good quality stuff from waaay back in the campaign.  

Funny Riley.  Eaten alive by ghouls so that Tryn could become the face of the group.

MWAHAHAHAH.


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## Riley (Jul 30, 2003)

Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *Funny Riley.  Eaten alive by ghouls so that Tryn could become the face of the group.
> 
> MWAHAHAHAH. *




I'd rather be the Hannibal of the group.


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## Cinerarium (Jul 30, 2003)

Riley said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I'd rather be the Hannibal of the group. *




I'd say when you were Fineon you were more Murdock, and Kazir was Hannibal.  Toth is definitely B.A. Baracus.

Check out the Shrine  if you're clueless as to what we're going on about.


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## Riley (Jul 30, 2003)

Davran is Hannibal.
Kazir is... hmmm.

Matrim is definitely Colonel Morrison.

And I'm done with this line of thought.


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## Lela (Jul 30, 2003)

*Re: Odds and Ends*



			
				Cinerarium said:
			
		

> *Sorry, I should've counted Lela's multiple personalities.  My bad.
> *




"Darn Tooten."

"Yeah!"

"What he said!"

"Dude."


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## Cinerarium (Jul 31, 2003)

*Alturiak 4, Cont.* 

As we approached the man looked at us from out of the shadows, withdrawing the hood of his cloak to reveal a completely hairless head.  Even his eyebrows were gone.  I began to speak but was cut off as he began chanting a spell!  Fin leapt off his horse and tumbled in to the attack.  At the same time Toth heard a sound in the woods to our left and charged in to head off our flank.  

In the ensuing fight, Fineon displayed his remarkable mastery of the spiked chain.  Whenever the man closed, Fin would step back and lash out with his chain, always keeping distance.  The hairless man was forced to using up a number of minor spells while constantly falling under the barrage of spells and chain strikes.  Soon enough, the man fell, and his dog turned tail and ran.  We looked for Toth in the woods, who emerged shortly.  “You’ll find a dead dwarfy-thing in there.  Weird claws and stiff, poisoned beard.  Stinks, too.”  Coming from the half-orc, this was some admission.

We searched the bodies for some identifying marks, but found little.  Fineon took several minutes in prayer to his god, then stepped up to the corpse.  “Step back.  I’ll attempt to force his spirit to answer our questions.  Any suggestions?”  

This was not the first time I had seen Fineon cast clerical magic.  His worship of Erevan Ilesere is as deep as mine of Deneir, though less open.  Yet I had not known he was capable of such power!  To question the spirits themselves!  I can only pray to someday be favored so by Deneir.

We discussed briefly, and decided on a few questions.  Fineon cast his spell, and the dead man’s mouth slowly began to move, though blood still wheezed through a hole in his chest where Fineon’s chain had broken some ribs.  Altogether the sight was rather macabre, as his disjointed jaw struggled to pronounce the questions that Fineon put to him.

“Why did you attack?” Fineon asked.

“Because… you seek… to stop the… the Gul-Drimm from being reborn!” the corpse said, its voice like an echo from a deep well.  I started at the words.  The Gul-Drimm!  So the legends of the ancient anti-heroes are true!

“Who were the horsemen that passed through here immediately before us?”

“I don’t know…” blood bubbled out of its mouth.  

Fineon shook his head and turned away.  “That’s all I can do.”

We stared around the clearing.  The trees’ shadows were growing longer, and despite our general unease, we could not tarry here, hiding under our cloaks and waiting for the bad men to go away.  Wearily we got back on the road, poking the horses west.

Soon enough we emerged from the woods, and again the spires of Formyr dominated the horizon.  Much closer now, their peaks appeared to spear the setting sun.  Not an hour later, we could see the walls of Formyr in the distance, and made out a few other wagons lining up at the gates before they closed at nightfall.  

Parallel to the road on our left a long, worked column of stone lay lengthwise on the ground, a good three hundred yards long and perhaps twenty feet tall, leading all the way to the gates.  It cast a long shadow in the setting sun, slightly to the south so early in the year.  We all gazed at the work as we rode past.  What could it be?  I glanced back to the gates, and the tall towers of Formyr ahead.  Of course!  The notion struck me with blinding alacrity -- we were riding along a fallen tower, one much taller than those still standing.  What hands could have wrought such a thing?  Surely the heroes of old?

I was so distracted with this thought that I hardly noticed as we approached the gates themselves.  From far above, a voice called out.  “Ho there!  State your business in Formyr, or spend the night outside!”


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## Tellerve (Jul 31, 2003)

Ooohh, fallen tower.  Nice imagery 

Tellerve


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