# The Diary of Elizar Norbe - A Solo Greyhawk Campaign



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 1 - Brewfest 591 CY

Before I begin, I would like to apologize to those of a more historical bent that I cannot afford more precision when it comes to dating these entries. As a student of events myself, I understand the frustration this can cause, however I fear that this record will one day fall into the hands of those who would do me harm and, as such, I cannot be too cautious.

My name is Elizar Norbe late, as of yestereve, of Hardby, once equal of the Gem of the Flanness. My reasons for fleeing the beloved city of my childhood are numerous though they require a little explaination of my past before you may understand them fully. In my short life I have been many things; priest, wizard, traveller and spy.

The brief version of my family history begins with my father, a Souloise-descended merchant of Hardby, and my Mother, a Jasirian witch of Baklunish stock from the cold lands of Blackmoor. Their meeting was hardly the stuff of legends, though love apparently evolved as he brought her all the way back to his homeland in order to gain his family's blessing for their union. Seeing what a remarkable woman my mother was, they agreed in short order and welcomed her, and the status a woman of the church provides, to their bosom. My father died attempting to establish new trade routes south of Sasserine leaving behind my mother, two elder sisters and myself still enwombed.

Out of respect and thanks for bringing me into this world, I will not name my mother or sisters in this text. As you may now guess, the name Elizar Norbe is an alias though I have come to view it as more my own than my real name.

I grew into my family position and followed, at my mother's insistance, my elder sisters into the church of Wee Jas, the Ruby Goddess. Though I displayed great aptitude for the cloth, female apprentices are always preferred over boys, a fact which chafed my pride most acutely. More to the point, the constant snide remarks denegrating the aptitude of the uglier sex had taken a slow and painful toll on my first master and literally eroded his sanity. My first few years of apprenticeship were filled mostly with mortification, brutality and grueling work which left very little time for prayer and study.

But all things come to an end, as the Ruby Goddess teaches, and the brutalization of apprentices is greatly frowned upon no matter the gender. For a while, my position in the church came under question as there were no others to teach me in the proper articles of our faith. It came as some surprise when my new mistress emerged from the shadows under the temple in order to take me in as her pupil. Though I am thankful, I do wonder if she would have been as accepting of me had I been less fair of feature.

My studies began in earnest and I showed an aptitude for both prayer and the powers arcane. My mistress taught me both in return for doing what she was patently unable to during the day and, at times, a little blood or companionship. Under her tutilage I learnt much about the undead and their ways though I never became as focussed on that knowledge as she.

Our time came to an end when war broke out and the Gynarchy called upon every resource in order to defend its boarders from the aggression of Iuz the old. I was drafted by my mother and sisters as an agent and sent out into the world with only a horse, staff and robes on my back. I carried messages, did odd jobs, infiltrated various magical organizations, fought off invaders and comitted crimes that still haunt me to this day. Such is war and the game.

My return didn't come until many years after the war had ended, with plagues of fiends across the countryside and other catastrophies sweeping the land, even as Hardby fell to the Free City of Greyhawk we were still needed to serve the Gynarchy abroad. They were tough times and I learned little as my situation was ill suited to study. But return I did to thunderous silence and vague dismissal. My family hardly remembered me or even acknowledged my presence, so caught up in the power struggle as the aging Gynarch slowly ascends to the Goddess' arms. My sisters are hailed as heroes while I langueish in a barren cell of the Temple I once thought of as home. Even here, I am still a lowly apprentice, barely above my former rank.

I was not chosen as an agent for my stupidity or dullness and yet my peers seem to think me deaf and dumb. I have been accused of arrogance, hubris and ambition; I am an outcast among the living who can only find solice and even good conversation with the dead. Was, that should be 'was an outcast'. Consulting the Goddess with my mistress, we cast together several auguries asking what course of action she has ordained for me. The Goddess told me to leave and seek my fortune elsewhere.

I do feel guilt for leaving my family, even after all they have said and done to me. Wee Jas teaches obedience to church, state and family and yet all beings have a duty to a higher order, the order by which the universe itself is run. Ultimately, I believe that it is this order I am now serving, the word of my Goddess is to leave and there can be no higher authority. Perhaps they are right, I am arrogant to believe that I personally serve some higher cause and yet I am set on my course and my mistress agrees. I have seen too much of the world to be impressed by the fading glory of a small town with pretensions of granduer.

The next morning, I wasted no time in converting most of my worldly possessions into gold. With what small wealth I have managed to accumulate over the years, I have purchased some magical tools that will aid my travels in the days ahead along with passage to Sasserine on a ship that I have no intention of being on. Tonight, I sit writing this diary upon a rock worn by the passage of ages by the light of a fading campfire I dare not build too high. I'm counting on the festival to slow my mother's realization of my absence as well as muddy my tracks for those who she will undoubtedly send after me.

I will take the backroads west to Narwell, relatively easy travelling through well-developed countryside. As loathe as i am to do it, I have discarded my vestments and hidden my silver holy symbol in a leather pouch around my neck in order to pose as a lowly wanderer. After Narwell, I'll head south through Celene and the Welkwoods and into Ulek. From there, I can decide whether to take to ship, travel further south into Keoland and the Sea Princes or north toward the Barrier Peaks. I am positive that the Goddess will guide me to where I am needed most.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 9 - Patchwall 591 CY

More than a week without an entry, I did not intend for it to be so long. My travel has gone as expected for the most part though my resources have been steadily dwindling. I refrained from spending much time in Narwell, wanting to cross the boarder into Celene as quickly as possible and, hopefully, well out of my mother's reach.

I hope to find work once I enter the Welkwood, I have heard rumors of increased Orkish activity this side of the Lortmil mountains. Many fear tall tales of a prophisised warlord sanctified by Grummish One-Eye. Ha! More likely the Pomarj are up to their usual tricks.

I've decided to take a chance and sleep at the local inn of this small logging village. In another two days, I should be in Celene and not a moment too soon.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 10 - Patchwall 591 CY

I was subjected to a curious proposition this morning over breakfast. A halfling trapper entered the common room and bade anyone interested in dangerous work to make way toward his village north and west of this one. Despite repeated questions, he refused to elaborate on the exact nature of this work other than the fact that it would involve combat with dangerous beasts.

Feeling acutely the lightness of my purse, I could not refuse the call despite my reluctance. The trapper's trepedation has not instilled in me any confidence that this job is even for real. Given the lonely state of this road, which is in fact little more than a dirt track, I believe that I am the only traveller who has taken up the call. Perhaps more will come in a day or so, the trapper did say he was travelling further south in order to spread the word.

To wrest advantage from this temporary inconvenience, however, my side trip does bring me closer to the boarder of Celene. If I have any persuers, my sudden turn north should cause some confusion. My educated guess as to my opponents in this part of the forrest would be Pomarj-backed raiders or perhaps even goblinoids. I'll arrive at the village tomorrow morning, so we shall see.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 11 - Patchwall 591 CY

I have been reduced to pest control. The Goddess strokes my back with the iron rod of humility yet again.

My arrival caused a great stir in the village, I was literally mobbed by small halfling children who assumed correctly that their trapper had recruited me to eliminate the great beasts that have created such a disruption to their daily lives. This part of the forrest, cleared a long time ago, has been given over to vinyards rather than allowed to be reclaimed by the forrest. The mayor has explained that they are simple people, farmers, and have no knowledge of how to deal with the great beasts that plague them.

His words conjured up visions in my head of nightmare creatures from the abyss, lost remnants of Iuz's fell magics. While we were speaking, an alarm sounded. The villagers scurried into their homes and hid while the mayor and his rag-tag millitia led me toward the largest vinyard in town. A quick glance told me that there was little chance of fortifying the place against attackers, very little terrain suitable for defense among the rolling hills.

When we arrived, I saw that these fell beasts were, in fact, Giant Bees attracted to the sugar in the vats produced by the fermentation process. Four of them currently buzzed around the structure, lapping up the run-off where they could or even getting inside the vats themselves and gorging on the nectar inside. The halflings were in a state of panic and I must admit, if i were half my size the Bees would appear much more frightening. I also admit that the sheer size of their stingers even gave me pause.

I knocked on the door and called for the owner of the house, who promptly answered. I inquired if there was anything flammable in the vats and he told me no, though i did not divulge my reasons for asking. taking a measured distance for my attack, I got the Bee's attention with a salvo of Magic Missiles. They were slightly faster than I gave them credit for, however, and I only managed to blast one of them down before they came within range for my Scorch spell. One more fell to my scorch spell before they were upon me, one managing to sting my shoulder. I ripped the stinger out quickly before the poison could take any noticeable effect and dispatched the other with my magical dagger as the one who stung me promptly died of its own accord.

Though the job seems ignominious, I am now the hero of the town. They have treated me to the very best halfling hospitality with free room and board at the only building capable of accomodating one of my size, givts of fine wine from the vinyards and a promise of more rewards to come. Tomorrow I set out for the hive with two of the militia's best.

The mayor has also asked me to find out the fate of their sherrif, who disappeared himself attempting to get rid of the creatures. I somehow doubt that I will find him well, animals don't tend to take prisoners.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 12 - Patchwall 591 CY

We were forced to retreat today but our wounds are not so bad that we will be unable to continue tomorrow.

The bees have made their hive in a covered bridge across a deep gorge. After observing the nest for a while, we divined that one always guards the entrance to the nest, a hole a mere five foot in diameter in the wax. Direct assault seemed impossible to me through the tiny entrance at least until we had thinned out the native popularion a bit.

Smoking out the bees wasn't an option as the high winds through the gorge made such tactics impossible. Destroying the bridge wasn't an option either, as the village needed the trade route to export wine into Celene.

I attracted the guard's attention through the simple expedient of stepping out of the bushes and blasting it with magical missiles. I expected some reaction, however the five more Giant Bees that responded were slightly more than I expected. The halfling militia were hard pressed to support me with their slings as the Bee's carapaces protected them for the most part. We made a total of four attacks on the hive over the day, healing and recovering as best we could each time with the aid of Wee Jas on our side. My spells ran out quickly, however, and I was forced to resort to my Wand of Web to divide the squads of Bees and conquer. Fortunately, none of us were seriously poisoned, though I took several stingers during the battle.

It won't be over, however, until we destroy the queen. The proprieter of the vinyards has asked me if it would be possible to capture the queen so that the production of honey could be continually harvested. My short answer was no, though I have suggested to the mayor that he send for a Druid that can maintain the balance of nature in these parts.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 13 - Patchwall 591 CY

I have emerged victorious from the hive. By my count, we piled and burned 40 worker bees in the clearing outside the hive. The queen is also dead, slain by my own hand as i ventured into the Hive alone. It depleted all of my spells to do so but the village is now free to reclaim its bridge. I also retrieved the body of the Sherriff from the gorge, he had evidently been cornered by the bees and knocked over the cliff's edge.

The halflings are busy collecting all the honey and knocking down the wax, though not so busy as to refrain from heaping praise and awe upon me. I find it ironic that I am a hero here for such a lowly job as exterminating bugs when my homeland fails to honor me for my part in protecting them from the direst evil to face Oearth.

The mayor has rewarded me with a magical ring of protection and a letter of mark that will see me safe across the boarder into Celene. I refused his gifts of healing potions and a small ammount of money as his people need those more than I. The ring is payment enough for such a small job, more in fact than the job was worth.

Tomorrow I leave for the deeper parts of Welkwood, heading over the bridge and then to the southwest. With luck, I will find somewhere to sell the wine, at my estimation their value should see me through for the next month or two.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 14 - Patchwall 591 CY

These lands are troubled. It seems that the very fabric of the natural order is in disarray, though that is not how I became embroiled in this new business. In fact, I blame a combination of events and my letter of Mark.

It began after I crossed the boarder and into Celene, finding to great relief that a village was close by as indicated by a traveller's stone to one side of a crossroad in my path. It was as I read the stone that I became aware of a rider appreaching from the direction I was headed. As I turned to look, two armsmen baring the colours of a merchant house stepped out of the dense forrest to meet him.

The messanger got down from his horse and handed a small pouch to one of the armsmen. The armsmen then slew him right in front of my eyes, without pity, remorse, concern or even a shred of mercy. Wary that I was outnumbered, I chose to keep my distance and hail the two murderers, using a prestidigitation spell to cause a momentary crackle of illusory green lightning to arc between my fingertips as a warning.

They stopped and were very polite, amazingly polite considering that I had just witnessed their foul deed. In fact, their manners wouldn't have been out of place in a king's court, it was strange to say the least. They were very fourthcoming, admitting that they had been charged with returning the item handed to them to its proper owner and taking revenge from the thief that stole it by their 'wise master', claiming that their actions were lawful and just. Not knowing the truth of the situation, I bade them leave the way they had come, warning them against trechery. They left and, after I was sure they were gone, I took it upon myself to examine the body.

It was while I was examining the body that the boarder patrol came across the scene. As it happened, it wasn't chance that brought them to me either, they were chasing the 'messenger' who they suspected of stealing a precious object of some sort from a recently interred body. The situation was certainly confusing and I was in danger of being arrested, so I produced my letter of Mark to help prove my innocence. The letter held great store with the sheriff and in the space of several heartbeats I was 'recruited' to help him investigate the matter.

As happy as I am to help the law, this delay with no promise of reward does chafe slightly.

While he returned to the village promising to bring back with him a skilled tracker, he left me to scout the area as best I could. It wasn't long before I found a trail where the armsmen had gone, and in even shorter order I found an ancient elven trail marker mostly buried in the mud. The forrest is very marsh-like in these parts, the result of a stream that flows into a shallow depression in the hilly terrain.

In my initial explorations, I crossed paths with a cockatrice, a swarm of more giant bees and a nest of giant spiders, though I avoided or bypassed each in turn. The animals, tough dangerous if hungry or provoked, didn't disturb me. In fact, it took a human to attempt to waylay me when I was just about to pack it in for the day and return to the road. The two armsmen I had encountered before emerged from the bushes on either side of the trail, brandishing longswords. I was preparing to retaliate when a white wolf took one of them by the throat. The other ran as his friend was torn to pieces.

Shocked as I was at the sudden rescue, I stood terribly still so as not to provoke the wolf who had apparently saved my life. To my surprise, the wolf could speak.Thornfur, as he introduced himself, was once the companion of the local druid, now deceased from old age. He revealed that he had been watching me for some time and had only just chosen to reveal himself as I was threatened. Amazingly, he had a job for me in order to repay my debt for saving my life.

I searched the dead armsman and discovered a very ornate glass eye inset with jewels worth a veritable king's ransom. A pity I must return it to its rightful owner, in fact, it could purchase me much in the next township. Otherwise, I would have sworn that he was an ordinary caravan guard from his equipment and livery. It is certainly strange for such to take up banditry.

Thornfur took me back to the remnants of the Druid's shack, now the wolve's den. Twelve wolves, plus Thornfur, left with us in order to fight some sort of evil plant beast. Our assault was nothing short of a disaster. The moment the wolves came upon the thing's clearing, they charged without even giving me a moment's consultation. Fortunately, the thing had cleared the forrest around it of all other life so I could use my most powerful fire spells against it. It was some sort of fell and malignant tree, an abberation of nature and evil to the core.

Only Thornfur and I walked away from that clearing after making sure the thing was nothing but ash. We dug out the roots even, I poured oil over the burning thing and obliterated it. The loss of the wolves has hit the pack hard, Thornfur hasn't been able to care for the forrest as it was, now he has only one female left and five pups to protect. Tomorrow, he says, he'll take me back to the trail to meet the Sheriff. I feel heartbroken for his loss.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 9, 2007)

Day 15 - Patchwall 591 CY

I cannot believe it's almost half a month since I left Hardby. Sleeping under the stars, I do miss the small comforts of home and civilization. Tonight, however, I sleep in a warm bed courtesy of a certain merchant's guild grateful for the return of their master's daughter and heir apparent.

Thornfur and I met the Sheriff and his tracker on the path and the wolf led us around the swampland across several makeshift bridges. Of particular concern to us was that someone had apparently built a dam across the stream, forming a wide, deep, lake upstream from the village I had been heading for yesterday. Our tracker tells us that if the dam bursts that the village beyond would be flooded and probably swept away. Worse, there was nothing we could do about it as two more armsment were guarding the structure and it was the only way to cross to the other side of the stream without wasting a day of travel.

I opted to negotiate with the armsmen, who were very polite but insistant that they were guarding the bridge under the auspices of their 'wise master', a man named Plygar who they described as deformed and missing one eye. They were so insistant that their master's wisdom outweighed all other concerns that I began to suspect that their minds had been tampered with. taking a different tack, i suggested that they allow us across for an audience with the great Plygar and they capitulated immediately, lwtting us to pass.

Eventually, we came to a hovel on the shore of the lake guarded by more armsmen. I left the two soldiers and Thornfur behind and approached the house invisibly from the side. Passing the guards, I walked out onto the verandah that stretched out over the water from the side of the building. Looking through the windows, I identified Plygar easily and, as fortune would have it, he was eating some lunch with more armsmen and a lady of some breeding with his back to me.

I caused some commotion by webbing the guards out front from around the corner of the building, waited for those inside to go to their rescue and then entered through the side door behind Plygar, rendering him unconscious with a quick blow to the head with the butt of my dagger and then webbing the rest of the party. It took some time to snap them out of Plygar's spell, though I did find the magical item responsible for the unfortunate situation.

Plygar is currently in a cell and I have the favor of a merchant house. The dam is being opened slowly and a druid has been called for to take over the duties of the old one in the region. More advantageously, Plygar managed to find some manuscripts that detailed the lost dungeons of some wizard tyrant that currently sit under the water, I am hopeful that I will be able to explore these dungeons once the lake has gone down.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 10, 2007)

Day 17 - Patchwall 591 CY

My foray into the ruins was both harrowing and successful. I have slain many undead guardians in that dank pit, bartered with fiends and narrowly escaped acidic death. At first, the skeletal minions were easy, aside from one rotten Ogre corpse who resisted the power of my Goddess. These battles came thick and fast on the first day, forcing me to sleep and replenish myself before I was able to search for valuables or risk delving deeper.

For those of you aspiring 'adventurers' and explorers, I heartily reccomend the purchase of a portable hole as soon as you can possibly afford the cost. I have purchased several scrolls tonight that will aid me greatly in the months ahead just with the profits from the sale of several fine tapestries alone that I would have been otherwise unable to haul out of the pit.

The second day was more interesting. I accidently freed a half-fiendish beauty from imprisonment under the ruin, a very pleasant girl by all accounts although rather fixated on her lost love Radeem, the former master of the tower. She insisted that, though he left her there imprisoned and apparently disappeared for more than a century, Radeem would be back soon to reclaim what was his. I offered to replace what I had taken, after all I am no thief, however she insisted that I take what I could claim as a reward for her freedom. She left soon after in search for Radeem, taking to wing.

Deeper down in the dungeon, I discovered a large chamber that contained the bones of a long-dead black dragon. Wary of an ambush in the half-flooded room, I saught to take the high ground in case the dragon had left any surprises for tresspassers. She did not disappoint, a hatchling burst from one of the pools as I passed by, nipping at my heels as I leapt out of the water and onto the dais with the dragon's bones. At this point, a second slithered onto the dais past the enormous white bones of their mother.

My key strategy was to keep them from flanking me. I backed away down the opposite side of the bones from the second hatchling, unleahing a barrage of magic at the first. It managed to breathe once before I managed to slay the beast, though I dodged the torrent of liquid pain, but my tactic worked. The second made the mistake of performing a wing-assisted leap over it's mother's bones, though I recieved a nasty bite from the creature I felled it with a particularly well-aimed strike of my Scortch spell.

I have collected, while not a king's ransom, perhaps a knight's ransom from the dragon's lair including the preserved corpses of the hatchlings as well as the dragon bones that will go for several golden orbs If I come across a larger city in the near future.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 14, 2007)

Day 19 - Patchwall 591 CY

I've spent the last few days setting my affairs in order. Celene's boarder now stands between myself and my mother like a great wall, better than any battlements, and so I feel more at ease. Unless she wishes me dead I have little fear that her agents shall accost me now that I am outside her significant political clutches.

I caused quite the stir at the local banking house when I began pouring a seemingly endless supply of gold out of my extradimensional bag. Several thousand gold pieces is a paltry sum compared to what exchanges hands between the merchant's guilds and other business. So much, in fact, that it places me in very real danger from the local thieves if they can work up the courage to try me. Word of my powers seems to have reached the local populace, as well as my new association with the merchant's guild.

It behoves me to invest some of my gold, at least that which I can afford after I purchase several new spell scrolls, good ink, a second spellbook and replenish the miscelaneous sundries that one uses incidently on the road. It comes to chance that the Guildmaster, as a reward for saving his daughter, has gifted me with real estate, an Inn that currently stands delapedated and useless at the edge of town. I had a builder assess the construction and he declaired it basically sound, while research of my own indicates that fixing the sturucture, resupplying and manning the Inn for business will cost a total of 2000 gold orbs.

I've ordered construction to begin today and hired an Innkeeper with experience in the work to oversee the project. As long as the investment turns a balance I will be happy... though I will audit the business personally from time to time. I do not detect a hint of malice in my hireling's thoughts, which is just as well. My staff will be payed well and kept happy but greed and betrayal will be punished swiftly.

I have made firm friends with the Sheriff of the region after my help with the murder. He is good, law abiding, folk and I think he believes that I will be a stabilizing force in the region. I revealed to him the Goddess that I worship and he was intrigued by my faith. Perhaps, in time, he may convert however I do not preach to him or others the path that I have undertaken. Those who come to the Goddess do so freely and of their own will. We are becoming friends, I think, but time will tell on that score as well. Some of my darker research may alarm such simple harvest folk, my preserved black dragon hatchlings are a novelty but if they realized that such magic could preserve and even animate their own dead... it would be best they did not discover this.

I have heard many rumors of skirmishes with Orcs, though most of the battles seem to be occuring close to the Lortmil Mountains. It seems I was wrong to dismiss these bandits as Pomarj agents, reliable reports indicate that this is some holy Orc crusade whipped up by some Warlod claiming to be the chosen one of Gruumish.

Once my affairs are in order here, I will travel further west as guard to a merchant caravan, it seems that the Guildmaster's daughter will take no other with her on the journey to the capital, Enstad. I have mixed feelings about the visit, the elves have the most annoying habit of being cordial to humans in the same manner humans are to dogs. If I wished more of that sort of condascending prattle, I'd have stayed home or joined the Scarlet Brotherhood. I estimate that it would take me a few months before my anger boiled into a murderous rampage in the latter two cases, let us hope that he Elves can manage to be more civil.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 23, 2007)

Day 23 - Patchwall 591 CY

In typical Elvish fashion, I have been turned away from the gates of Enstad without so much as an apology for the inconvenience.

My employer was allowed passage through the gates, however, to conduct her business. It seems that my Goddess is not entirely welcome in this land or, at the very least, mistrusted. I am currently staying in a village some miles from the capital, the closest lodgings I could find on the western roads.

Scant hours after my arrival I recieved a missive asking that I travel upriver to a small trading city near the Lortmils. The river is a very important trade route as barges can deliver goods much more speedily to the coast than by land and it seems that my employer has an interest in seeing that a peculiar affair be cleared up since I am now available to deal with it as long as his daughter is safe in the arms of the Elves.

Not that I mean to imply that she is a loose woman but elven beauty did fall fairly upon her eyes.

The reward for my services is substantial. Ten thousand pieces of solid platinum. If this missive is correct then these merchants certainly know how to make one an offer one cannot refuse.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 24, 2007)

Day 27 - Patchwall 591 CY

Uneventful journey through the Celene wilderness.

I have arrived at Mengate, the river town, to become embroiled in much intregue and political mechanations. One of the few predominantly human towns in Celene, Mengate owes more to its culture from Ulek to the south and Greyhawk back east. The merchant-nobles style themselves as a free city on the edge of civilization even as they pay lip service to their Queen.

I find such comportment disgusting, to disrespect their monarch so, even if justice for humans may be lacking in her Elvish court. I will happily deprive them of their money, however, particularly if the next generation is going to show more promise.

My employer has lost his son, Oreal. Despite this tragedy, he seems at times to care more about his family name and lineage than his son. The last time they saw each other, they argued about taking over the family business, the father wishes the son to become more involved in preparation for his future duties as head of the household. The servants say that Oreal packed for a short journey, as was his want, so he exhibited no unusual behaviour.

My employer also mentioned that his son had recieved some training in arms with elvish forresters, so the lad obviously knows which end of the sword to hold without cutting himself. Hopefully he also knows how to use it, I have a bad feeling about this business. Milord also stated that he has many enemies who would like to see his house fall from grace and ever since I left his mansion I have felt eyes gazing upon my back.

A very bad feeling indeed.


----------



## Ipissimus (Apr 26, 2007)

Day 28 - Patchwall 591 CY

I hate politics. If it wasn't for the money and the plight of these poor, deluded, children I would probably leave these merchant houses to each other's tender mercies and let the Orcs take them.

My investigations lead me to believe that these Scions have banded together into a small mercenary group of the kind common in all parts of the world and sometimes referred to as 'adventurers'. Of course, these children are probably at the mercy of the orc hordes up in the Lortmils after their last expedition, but there may still be some hope that they are still alive no matter how small. Their leader, or at least the most experienced member of their band, was a dwarven mercenary well known around town. I believe that the scions hired him to teach them the ropes, so to speak.

The houses are paranoid, I was even waylayed by a band of thugs on the way back to the Inn I suspect was hired by one of the groups. Fortunately, yet another group hired by one of the other houses came to my rescue. It is disgusting. I will be glad to set my back to this town in the morning, even if the orcs will be to my front.


----------



## Ipissimus (May 4, 2007)

Day 30 - Patchwall 591 CY

Two eventful days on the road. I have discovered where the nobles were ambushed by the orcs, as I suspected. It seems that Durin Crownshild, the dwarven mercenary, fell in battle to the orcs that he hated with such passion. The rest of the party must have either lost their appetite for the fight with his death or were shocked into their senses, they have evidently been taken prisoner.

Their folley makes me sigh. Electing a leader such as Durin doomed them to failure. Experience in these matters he may have had but intelligence, wisdom and restraint were obviously not some of his better qualities. I pray that these young fools don't also pay the ultimate price for Durin's folley.

There are wolves and Owlbears about this untamed wilderness, and the orc trail goes steadily north-west further into the mountains. I have fought off or hidden from several beasts already and the wolves do no let me rest in darkness. They aren't like Thornfur and his ilk, they are hungry things as winter approaches, yet not brave enough to test the campfire.


----------



## Ipissimus (May 4, 2007)

Day 33 - Patchwall 591 CY

Nothing much to report on for the last few days, the orcs leave a trail that even I can follow, strewn with the carcasses of the noble's horses which they are obviously using as rations. I am tempted to animate one to ride in this damned weather if I were not trying to maintain a low profile.

Today I came to the aid of a half-orc ranger in dire need of assistance against a manticore. He proved to be a genuine and worthy ally, though I was naturally suspicious of him at first. I am sharing his shelter for the night and we set out for the orc citadel where the nobles have been taken on the morrow. It may be a few days before I can write again.


----------



## Ipissimus (May 4, 2007)

Day 37 - Ready'reat 591 CY

Where to start?

Currently, I am resting in a warm cavern with the nobles, supplied by the half-orc ranger that I mentioned in my last entry. We have been moving swiftly as we all fear persuit, though we have yet to see any signs of such.

I arrived at the orc citadel I estimate on the night of Day 35. My companion refused to accompany me inside the edifice, so I had to sneak inside alone. I believe that this tale will be one of use to budding apprentices as it shows an exemplary application of the magical arts, so I will detal my tactics in full.

The first problem was surmounting the wall. Though there was a substantial army camped at the base of the small peak, they were easily avoided by climbing the opposite side of the mountain. Waiting until nightfall, I then cast a rudimentry flight spell and an invisibility spell upon myself and flew to the second story of the keep, over the heads of the guards.

The citadel was still undergoing repairs, several great rents had been torn in the defenses sometime in the distant past. A tall structure, it nonetheless only had two levels, the uppermost more in the way of battlements, defenses and storage for the guards. I infiltrated the main building through a door on the southernmost side on the second level, the guards unable to hear me with the pounding of the rain.

Inside, I immediately prayed for the Goddess's divine guidance in the location of traps and secret doors. My Goddess heard my plea and I proceeded down to the first floor. As luck would have it, I came to a dining room that was both empty and sported a secret door. Thank Wee Jas, it could have taken me years to find that door without her blessings!

Behind the secret door were stairs going down. Descending, I came to an octagonal room with heavy doors to the east and a stairwell on the west, with a pit in the centre that evidently piearced the lower levels of the dungeon as well. I ignored the guards and wasted no time in flying down the shaft.

Spells are so much like timers. I swear I could feel a metronome ticking away the seconds in the background. As such, I was determined to make quick descisions based on my objectives. 1. Find the nobles. 2. Ascertain the orcish forces in the immediate viscinity. 3. Free the noble. 4. Create enough disruption in the enemy chain of command that we can escape. My studies had indicated to me that orc hordes can only act as a cohesive force with a strong leader at their heads. As a race, they are otherwise incapable of functioning, quickly devolving to more primitive habits.

I remember one author suggesting that elves and orcs were a related species. If I also remember correctly, he was rendered down into fertilizer for an enormous oak tree... yet I digress.

The pit did piearce the lower levels of the dungeon and I flew down to the lowest level, bypassing the rest of the guards and traps. It was a gamble, the nobles may have been held on a higher level, yet I was counting on what I knew of Orc psychology that they would sequester their treasures a deep into the earth as practically possible.

The chamber I arrived at was dominated by a pool, fed by a waterfall that rained down from above. Large Orcish guards in ornate platemail armour stood at the two double doors in the north and west, while another passage descended into the darkness of a natural cavern to the east. behind me was the stairwell that went back up into the citadel.

Fortunately, the double doors to the north were rusted ajar behind the guards. I was able to fly over their heads and through the doors without fuss. Beyond were several natural caverns, one of which served as a guard's barracks. Beyond them I found an Orcish witch brewing some form of warpaint, attended by an Orc male stripped down to the waist as he waited for the paint to be applied.

I identified the paint as one of the foul concoctions used in rituals sacred to Gruumish, chief of the Orc Pantheon. Doubly worried for the nobles, I hastened through the witch's den only to discover them bound and gagged in the next room, not to mention much the worse for wear.

Noting my objectives, I ignored them for the moment and checked the next room. There was a very, very large Orc, who I surmised to be the warlord, preparing for some unholy ritual sacrifice on an altar to their God. No points to guess who was going to be sacrificed.

I returned to the nobles and made my presence known as quietly as possible, singling out their Wizardess as the quickest thinker and the most used to dealing with magic. Invisible people can be most disconcerting. While we were talking, the orc warrior from the witch's room walked through into the altar chamber, which was a tense moment for all of us. He passed without comment, so I gave my wand of minor healing to the band's cleric and bade him heal his companions, manacled though they all were.

I then proceeded into the witch's room and strangled her with my garrote. Once she was unconscious, I slit her throat for good measure.

The next order of business was covering our escape, not to mention finding a key for the nobles. I figured that the chief or one of his men would have it, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone.

Or, rather, ten orcs with one ball of fire.

Only the Warlord survived my initial assault, at which point I summoned the power of my Goddess, reaching into his chest with the power of my will alone and crushing his heart in my fist. One of the darker spells in me repertoire, I admit, though fully justified in this instance. I came across the prayer in a necromantic tome during my studies with the Boneheart while I was working undercover during the war. They named the spell 'The Clutch of Orcus', though I have re-named my version to 'Grasp of the Ruby Goddess' as the power does indeed come from my deity rather than a chaotic Demon Prince that mocks the beauty of her dark gifts.

Visible again, I was dependant on the spell to finish off the powerful Warlord, not to mention my desperation to silence his calls for assistance. We were locked in a battle of wills for almost two minutes, by my approximation, before his charred and smoking heart appeared in my hand. The job done, I decapitated the corpse and searched the bodies, discovering the key to the noble's chains on one of the other guards.

Freeing the nobles, we set about ransacking the place together. With their equipment and wounds fully restored, I took the lead holding the Warlord's head and hammer aloft to make an impression on any Orcs we encountered. And an impresion I did make, the warriors dispaired and fled the citadel to a man.

We climbed down from the battlements using my rope and ran as fast as we could back towards civilization, the Orc hordes already beginning to plunge into chaos behind us. Still we fear persuit, so I have pressed us all into moving as fast as our legs will carry us through the wilderness. It will be another week's hard journey home but I cannot fault my companion's eagerness to return to their own soft beds.

I can't wait to return to my well-deserved reward. Last night I had strange dreams of a bespeckled ducks swimming through a vault full of gold coins... perhaps these last few weeks have been more harrowing than I initially thought.


----------

