Tomorrow we will reach Grelsh again, a city once so foreign and now my home. Perhaps I can find some peace there, but I doubt it. Too much has changed. I was too hasty when I ended my last entry with the observation that our task had been completed and all that remained was to journey home. More has transpired since then and now, as I sit by the fire and stare toward the north and pretend I can see the lights of Grelsch.
In the morning after our encounter with Isis, our hostess came to us with hospitable enthusiasm as we gathered ourselves together. I do not know if it was some sorcery, or a trick, or just the dreariness of the daylight as opposed to the exotic candlelight last night, but she seemed much older, and even a little plumper; not really less beautiful but just different: more nurturing than tempting. It was very odd, although I had had a similar and not altogether pleasant experience with a caravan whore when I was very young, before I joined the circle, but that is neither here nor there. As she fed us (Rorick chose to eat only his rations, but the food seemed wholesome enough), Isis insisted that she tell us her dreams. She told the tales of three groups of comrades.
The first was a group that had been taken by the mchafu DuChamp Corporation as slaves. I am not sure whether they were adventurers before or after their enslavement, but the dream showed them revealing after torture the location of the Nil Engine - some sort of Death Machine - that they had found and stored in a cave somewhere near the swamp, or Grelsch, or anyway somewhere in the region. There was also something about them having been taken from the White Widow Inn after being poisoned, which had led to their torture.
The next dream showed another party following the path laid out by the first - these were slaves as well, adventurers in bondage, and they were seeking the Nil Engine. They found it - but also found that it had been found. The engine had been activated by some -- bee-people? human bees? -- and apparently it was not -- or not only -- some sort of horrific instrument of destruction, but a kind of regeneration apparatus, transforming energies. It was unclear what happened to the party - the slaves were freed, but perhaps only with the liberty of quietus or metamorphosis. Like all dreams related later, the details swam in murky water.
The third dream seemed to indicate to Iris that we were to be the third party in this series of doomed expeditionists. Of course, Apple and Urik seemed to think this was a grand idea - to go seeking a Death Machine already claimed by DuChamp. I managed to carry the argument that we owed closure to our employers - both to Cavendish, who had sent us to Isis in the first place, in our roles as his allies, and to the Nackle, for whom we had allied ourself with Cavendish in the first place. As seekers of intelligence, we would be worth nothing if we did not bring the information back to those who needed it and who had commissioned us. Only after that should we decide whether this emprise is worth pursuing. Rorick agreed, and Ecgbert also wanted to get back to town, and Zinna followed our lead, and so we reached the consensus to go home.
We performed our goodbyes to Isis and made to quit the swamp. After more argument, we set a course that would take us most directly back to the Crespin Road: even though this would add some time to our journey back to Grelsch, the majority view held that the quicker we were out the swamp, the better. And so we set off, not with as light a step as our enthusiasm for getting home might otherwise have given us, for the humidity was as oppressive and the ground as damp and the swamp as dismal as it had been the first time we entered. Nonetheless, we pressed onward, hoping to show the swamp our backs by nightfall after an uneventful trek. Of course, this was not to be so.
Somewhere on our journey -- all points being equally miserable -- we were accosted by some Lizardkind. Like everything north of Bandui, from the Orcs to the trees, they were wet, swollen versions of the jangwa specimens: not brown and spare, but green and muscular, though still lithe. They spoke accented common with a subtle ticking trill that was not at all unpleasant to the ear, though what they had to say was less amusing.
Like all Lizardkind, they were masters of cognizance and wanted to trade their information for our action. They advised us that a party of six DuChamp agents had led a string of child slaves through the swamp. Their objective, according to the Lizards, was to trade these slaves to an Orc tribe in return for a magic artifact called The Reaper, some sort of weapon, sought by DuChamp in its relentless quest to hold all significant magic in the two continents. The Lizards were not interested in the weapon itself, but rather in some sets of magic greaves worn by two of the agents - apparently these allow the wearer to walk all day and through the night without the need for sleep. The Lizards wanted us to relieve the DuChamp agents of these greaves for them, and promised us the booty of the The Reaper as our own reward.
I was hesitant; one does simply walk into a battle with DuChamp. I wanted nothing to do this affair; the Corporation clearly wanted this Reaper for themselves and had gone to great lengths to acquire it; depriving them of it would surely arouse their wrath. The Lizardkind clearly knew this and were using us as their cat's paw. The others, however, perhaps since we had not immediately gone after the Nil Engine, seemed spoiling for a fight. In any case, given the demeanor of the Lizardkind, I am not sure we could have refused: they melted in and out of the swamp like ghosts, and had clearly had both us and the Corporation agents under surveillance for some time. I believe they could have ambushed us at any time and might have put paid to our whole party had they so chosen. Eventually, I agreed to an ambuscade with the proviso that we killed all six of the agents; none should escape. I wanted the party to be lost without a trace in the swamp; perhaps DuChamp would presume misfortune and write off the loss.
The Lizardkind, having told us they believed the Corporation party would return this way fairly soon, evaporated away after helping us find a likely spot for an ambush. On a small knoll, taking the height advantage, Rorick and Ecgbert set up as if taking their lunch during a trek; AppleRabbit, Zinna, and I, along with C'hallah, secreted ourselves in some reeds. Urik, as usual, positioned himself in plain sight on the trail, since he can neither act with stealth nor detect it well.
We had not long to wait before our adversaries arrived: four of them, marching in pair formation. We could see that two wore ornate greaves - clearly the prizes sought by the Lizards. Our attempts at hiding were for naught - they spotted us all except for Zinna, and their chief warrior bellowed a truculent and demeaning challenge as he approached. At the same time, his priestly compatriot laid on hands, and he near doubled in size from the magic effect. He clearly meant to do us ill: I believe the apt Carpathian expression is "Clout first, question later." The fight was joined.
Almost immediately, another DuChamp caster waved his arms and we all felt a wave of compulsion wash over us; luckily we are all able to steel ourselves against its effects, all except AppleRabbit. For her part, she screeched in fear and began to flee from the battle as fast as she could.
We could not spare effort to retrieve her; the battle was fast and furious. Rorick magically enhanced his crossbow and began playing to our foes; I tried to assist with my bow, to some little effect. C'hallah fought in close, distracting the enemy from more powerful targets, but the best advantage we made was disabling the giant -- Urik's stinging blood held the brute helpless and twitching on the ground long enough for the witch doctor to close and dispatch him without resistance.
Zinna held back entering the fray perhaps overlong - I think she kept hoping the battle would come in range for her to make a surprise attack, which she would know well how to exploit, but the tide rolled a different way. Eventually, she had to close with our opponents on their terms: she did mighty damage, but took a lot in return, for they had a fighter as nimble and swift as she. Ecgbert, too, fought valiantly and at great cost - had I not been able to channel some healing power into him, he would have fallen before gutting one of our foes with his great spear, as he did.
Urik threw more blood and his sting was felt again; our final foe fell and was finished at about the same time AppleRabbit, recovered from ensorcellment, made her way back to the field. She gamely used her energies to help heal the wounded.
As we ensured the demise of all the Corporation agents, the Lizardkind party once more appeared as if from the mist, pleased with our performance. We ripped the greaves from the fallen and turned them over; true to their word, the Lizards not only left us unmolested to loot our enemies, but provided guidance that would ensure our safe and expeditious egress from the swamp.
We found The Reaper in a small, elegant package, about the size and shape of a barrel lid. As it was opened, I was surprised to see that it was a sickle - not a simple farmer's tool, but a Druidic weapon, and one far greater than any I have ever seen. Its elegantly curved blade shone with an unearthly glow when held to the light, and its craftsmanship was evident at a glance. The blade looked sharp enough to cut air: no matter how closely I examined it, I could not perceive a distinct edge - it seemed to have been sharpened to nothingness. We tested it against a stout pole and it cleaved through it like a dagger through a honeycomb. It almost pulsed with a magical energy and not only felt powerful, but made the wielder feel stronger as well. Rorick's knowledge of spellcrafting confirmed that it had been impressively enchanted, and he pointed to the ancient magic emblems embossed on the handle: one for Nil (same as the Death Machine, something to do with nothingness) and for Ter (which has something to do with substance and matter). It was indeed a weapon for the ages, worth more gold than a successful merchant could earn in many lifetimes, much less a poor druid.
As I stared at it fineness, AppleRabbit was speaking, exhorting me to take up this weapon, not only to deprive DuChamp of its possession but to use it to strike at them. She was full of talk about destiny and duty and right and justice. She had the temerity to lecture me on the evils of DuChamp!
These Carpathians! Elf, gnome, dwarf, or halfling, they think that the Corporation is something you can fight like you would a mummy or a dragonne! THEY DO NOT KNOW! They live up here, under the protection of their mighty League, far from the filthy heart of the beast. What they know of DuChamp are raids, and thefts, and skirmishes. Pfah!
Bandui was once a paradise. The skeiks and sarkis and olori and caliphs ruled wised and justly, and the ancient laws governed countries and tribes and people alike. Trade flourished and the caravanseries thrived and oases were fecund and sweet. Feck was glorious, or so I am told; spires reached to the heavens and all sorts of creatures, human and humanoid and fey, roamed the streets trading stories and knowledge and food and artifacts. The City was the crossroads of the world when great Toesch was still a village.
Then the Corporation arose, in the guise of a trading syndicate. Slowly it gained more and more influence, insinuating itself into the tents of power and the halls of government like a serpent in the reeds. Then there were two sets of laws: one for the people, and one for the Corporation and friends of the Corporation. And then there were no laws, just the Corporation and its will, their eyes seeing everything, their ears hearing everything, their fingers strangling everyone, even reaching into the vastness of the jangwa itself. It became that if you were not a friend of the Corporation, you were their slave: literally, with a brand to prove it, or figuratively, with no outlet for your trade, your craft, your profession, your skill other than what they let you have.
As their power grew, so did their greed. They began to traffic with slavers and brigands of all sorts; Bandui became synonymous not with cosmopolitan trade but with the crassest and basest commercialism. No one knows exactly when they claimed possessorship of all magical items anywhere. At first, this stance appealed to Bandui pride, for we have long held that civilization's cradle can be found in our sands; as eldest, had we not the right of primogeniture to the fruits of civilization? But soon we found that DuChamp did not want the magic for Bandui or the people of Bandui; they wanted it all for themselves.
Carpathians, this is what life with DuChamp is like. They are an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent evil force that pervades every aspect of life. Customs, traditions, laws -- all fall like reeds before the blade if DuChamp wills. What they want, they take; what they have, they keep. Even up here in this wet land you feel their presence and fear them; you just don't fear them enough.
And AppleRabbit thinks I should fight them.
And the absurd thing is I think she's right.
Even if this is a battle that cannot be won, it is a battle that needs fighting. I have hidden in the sands long enough, long enough to realize that evil cannot be run from, but must be fought. It is absurd, I know; ultimately, we will all die, and it is hard to believe, given the evidence, that life has any meaning or that we can actually make a difference. But I draw from this absurdity three consequences nonetheless: my revolt, my freedom, and my passion.
I took the sickle. I will fight.
Of course, I am not stupid. I know that DuChamp has spies everywhere, so the first thing I did was wrap that handle of The Reaper in rough leather and rub mud on its blade. Hanging from my belt, it does not look much different from my own weapon (now secreted in my pack) and might pass unnoticed.
After following the Lizards' directions out of the swamp -- Rorick actually kissed the ground when we reached solid earth again -- we set out northward at a healthy pace. We have camped two nights on the road before this one, and have encountered naught but some little trade traffic. We should reach the White Widow before nightfall tomorrow, although Zinna is a bit chary of staying or eating there again, after hearing Isis's tale of the poisonings.
We have clearly passed a waypost, not just on the Crespin Road, but in the bigger journey as comrades of circumstance. We have taken on an enemy more fearsome than my colleagues can imagine. That thought alone is chilling enough. But I have remembered something:
We fought four Corporation Agents in the swamp.
The Lizardkind told us they were six.
Where were the other two? And where are they now?
When a man has had only four hours' sleep he isn't sentimental.
If I hated, I would hate this swamp. The sun of Bandui would hold less intensity than my hate and the stifling Feck would be cooler than my hate. My hate would burn this swamp, raze it, clear it, clean it, purify it, and leave it empty. But I am too tired to hate. I am even too tired to sleep, so I write this instead, crouched in this clearing outside this shack, with the thin light of Eckbert's candle and the sullen mumble of his prayers framing the landscape of my reflection.
After we had attended to the matter of the goblin's den, some of us were all for striking back to the road, to make camp and proceed on our journey to the witch. Apple Rabbit would have none of it. In a strangely energetic mood, considering all we had been through, she exhorted us to continue into the swamp, insisting that the way would be shorter and more direct. In any case, she refused to camp anywhere near the goblin remains, and so we set off through the mire.
After a journey of an hour or so, we found a spot adjudged to be a good place for a camp: the ground was relatively high and dry, and there seemed to be no immediate threat in the area. It was unusually quiet; AppleRabbit seemed perturbed that there weren't more tracks or spoor in the area. We choose to remain nonetheless, and to post double-watches throughout the night: first Apple and Eckbert, then Zinna with Urik and Rorick with his bird in the darkest hours, and finally C'hallah and I to welcome the dawn. I settled in for the night, not really expecting to be able to sleep all the way though until my watch. I hate it when I am right.
I was awakened by shouts from Rorick that we were being advanced upon. It was pitch-black; I could only assume my companion's dwarven eyes had seem something in the dark. I murmured a spell and threw magical light on a stone in the ground, illuminating the scene. I could see Rorick standing steadfast on the edge of our little rise, and at the edge of the torchlike light I barely made out a group of unearthly figures moving toward us. I sent C'hallah to defend Rorcik and roused myself for battle, as my comrades were doing.
We formed a skirmish line as the creatures advanced; they looked something like the undead I have fought in the jangwa, but were the opposite of those desiccated skeletons - they were foul, soggy, pale creatures. They bounced like the marionettes I have seen in market shows, and moved as one, like a flock of birds, but were orienting themselves by smell, as I have seen camels do. The padded through the shallow water in a most unnerving way and were on us even before we could completely form up.
The attacks were vicious and the conflict ferocious; our best efforts seemed for naught as the creatures seemed to absorb our strikes with little damage as they clawed at us with vicious determination. Those struck - first C'hallah, then young Eckbert - not only felt their wounds, but also collapsed as if suddenly struck with disease or illness, rendering them unable to fight. Once bloodied, our ghoulish foes would concentrate their attacks on the injured, as if to destroy them completely.
It was that bloodlust that provided us with the strategy that allowed us to drag victory clear from the mud of despair: the wounded retreated behind our ranks, and as the monsters single-mindedly went for them and made to get past us, we were able to attack when they were vulnerable, finally turning the tide in our favor. Our success became guaranteed when dim Zinna finally realized that edge of her swords were more effective than the points against these monsters; once this stratagem penetrated her mind, she began to make quick work of her foes, and even sliced one gruesome combatant into pieces with a series of coordinated blows.
When the battle was finally ended, Urik set to work like a butcher, hacking the monsters' bodies into bits as the rest of the party caught our breath or vomited out the noisome effects of the injuries. The witch doctor seemed particularly unnerved by these creatures, muttering over and over how unnatural they were and naming them unfeeling where I saw undead, as if that distinction were more important.
After this episode, we were exhausted, especially those that had been sickened, and wanted nothing more than to continue our interrupted sleep. AppleRabbit, however, had other plans for us. She insisted that we could not stay at this campground - that the blood we had spilled would attract other predators. She elaborated that nighttime was particularly unsafe in the swamp, as it was when most threats abounded, said that only in the muggy heat of the day could we safely sleep, and demanded that we keep on the move until full daybreak. So we slogged on.
I cannot express in writing how awful the swamp is. Every step makes one wetter, from standing water, from splashed water, from dripping water, from humidity, from brushing wet foliage, from the sweat of exertion. The trees make a canopy that blocks the feeble light from this northern moon, and stars - forget stars. It is nothing but a dank, dark box, a basket woven of shit and compost. Rorick was clearly ill at lease, less concerned with the wet than with the lack of any really solid ground for his dwarven feet to plant on: he looked like he was walking on the eggs of poisonous snakes. Eckbert and Zinna just looked miserable as they trudged, and even Urik was not spouting his usual platitudes of pain. In contrast, Apple was in fine spirits: I have no idea how she navigated through the gloom, but her urgings moved us forward doggedly through this moist hell, until, of course, as usual, it got worse.
Our first notice of trouble was Zinna's sudden stopping. She had been taking point, and all of a sudden she froze, like a bird dog who has caught scent of a zombie. It turns out she was not vigilant, but stuck - as Urik found when he hastened to her side and was similarly caught. Both had stepped into some kind of sticky trap that held them fast.
Exactly what kind of trap we soon found out, as Eckbert and I both dodged webs sprayed from some spiderish creature in the overhanging branches. Something had laid an ambush for us, and it was effective. After the first fusillade, more webs sprayed down, and Eckbert and I were held as fast as the two half-orcs. Applerabbit managed to hide outside the webbed area near a tree with C'hallah, who was in no condition to render anyone aid, and began firing shots with her sling. Rorick managed to use his blink magic to move out of the sticky mess and engage with his axe.
It was a slow torture. First one creature, a sort of spider-man, harassed the van; then his brother or mate appeared behind me and raked my back most viciously. The horrible creatures attacked us, entangled as we were, almost at will, and with each blow we could feel poisons eating away at our vitality; some of us managed with effort to fight off the symptoms, but some of us succumbed and became slower and less effective, hastening us to our dooms through increasingly futile defenses. Zinna squirmed and danced but could not free herself for the longest time; Eckbert took many blows and I saw him fall, bloodied and bowed yet still conscious. It looked grim.
Finally, Zinna freed herself and joined Rorick and his bird in their assault on the first creature to devastating effect. Urik cast blood on the creature attacking me and felled him, giving me the chance to deliver a serious blow on his helpless form. By the first faint fingers of dawn I saw Rorick cleave his foe; my hopes flew high, but were dragged back to the fetid earth by a severe blow from my enemy, who was still fighting. My vision swam and the world turned blacker.
I awoke in a campground to the not-so-tender mercies of Urik. He and AppleRabbit were moving amongst the party, healing wounds and trying his best to stem the ill-effects of the spider-man poison. It seemed that the battle had been won after I fell; Urik had slashed himself free and between his attacks and AppleRabbit - little AppleRabbit! - landing a telling blow with her tiny club, the last creature was dispatched. The party and C'hallah had dragged me away with them and we finally made camp in the shelter of the swelter of the day.
A full cycle of sleep had passed ere I awoke, and several more hours passed as Urik attended to his healing duties. I felt awful, as we did we all, but grew stronger each moment as we rested; Zinna, Exckbert, and Rorick appeared not to fare so well, still showing some after-effects of the spider-poison. We finally were ready to make way again in the early afternoon; by whatever divination she was using, AppleRabbit assured us that we would find the oracle by sundown if we made haste.
We struggled on through the swamp; I cannot say that the daylight was more pleasant than the night and remain honest, but at least it was less dangerous. The falling sun filtered through the leaves above, making the going a bit easier, and the only creatures we encountered were herbivorous or asleep: nothing tried to kill us.
As night fell, we came to a decrepit shack on a small knoll rising from the swamp; it looked like nothing more than one of the squatter's shacks in the shantytown outside great Feck, with the added squalor of dampness and moss. My first thought (and I do not think I was alone in thinking this) was great disappointment - that AppleRabbit had been led astray and that our journey was fruitless. Then, in what would be the queerest night of my life, we found were were indeed in the right place. It is hard to remember it all, even though it happened less than an hour ago; I viewed it through the fog of fatigue and a veil of something else, something bewitching or beguiling.
We approached the house, if it can be called that, and AppleRabbit was beside herself with wonder, taking in the scene, dancing about, picking mushrooms - acting for all the word like C'hallah does when we discover a fresh oasis. Then, a beautiful woman approached us - more beautiful even than charming Sprig. - looking so out of place in this dreary landscape, yet clearly in it and of it. Apple nearly swooned - watching her was like seeing someone meet their lover, their mother, and their god all in the selfsame person. It was awesome, and just a bit disturbing.
Conversation ensued, friendly, but hard to follow. Isis - for that is indeed who she was, although she was known by other names as well - seemed to talk to us each in turn and yet all at the same time. Her mouth would sometime open but no words at all come out; then again, sometimes I would hear her speak and yet swear her lips were not moving at all. Rorick seemed to think she spoke with a Dwarven accent; I wonder if she was speaking at all of if we were hearing her in our heads. It was all very confusing.
AppleRabbit gifted Iris with the ring we had recovered from the goblins; the witch accepted it graciously if not over-gratefully and our little gnome once again blushed like lover. I attempted to offer her the fey-killing dagger we had taken from the Rashemi witch, thinking she might wish to rid the world of a threat to her; she wrapped it in a soiled cloth and disdainfully bade me put it away. I was happy to see my diplomatic skills had not changed; it gave me some grounding in the weirdness around us that I was still myself.
We entered the shack, which glistened like an apothecary with bottles and notions, to continue the chewing the meat of our conversation. Isis seemed only too happy to talk: in spite of - or perhaps because of - her being so deep in such an unwelcoming landscape, she seemed greedy for company. We continued our strange conversations - I noticed she gave me some signals about Urik, which I plan to discuss with him when I can, and another message that would be disquieting if not so ridiculous. These subtle communications - under-messages, if you will - are probably best dismissed, as is the babble of the marketplace and gossip of the caravan.
We addressed the purpose of our visit: Zinna gave Isis the bloody bag of bloody coins that she has been carrying ever since we found the dead miller. The oracle put them in her mouth one by one and seemed to be talking to the dead man. All I could discern from her mumblings was that the ambushers were not of the Seven Pillars; perhaps my companions will remember more, for that seems like we came a long way for very little intelligence.
Isis off-handedly answered another question in the course of her ramblings: without identifying who, she said that the rider whose tracks we had seen around the ruins of the pillaged caravan had taken the remains of the merchants back to Grelsh. And good friend Rorick revealed as Isis's prodding that he had originally been hired by Helion and the half-elves of Crespin to spy on the Nackle and that his encounter with us was no mere chance. His allegiance to us as a comrade-in-arms has never felt in doubt, but clearly he can present himself as a minion of Crespin and of Nackle and of the Stealer's Guild, so who knows where his real allegiance is. More mysteries.
Eckbert seemed to have had his full of mysteries and in the middle of the discourse burst out into indignant, inchoate rambling, then strode from the room.
The witch then seemed to want to converse more about the people we had encountered or heard of, but she spoke mostly in riddles so deep that poor Zinna faded to sleep on a bearskin rug even before the evening was over. The witch said quite a bit; I tried to write down her words as she spoke and have attached the parchment scraps hereto:
When talking was finally done, Isis said we would leave in the morning, and invited - no, commanded - AppleRabbit to sleep with her. The gnome was thrilled and stripped herself naked even before Isis was finished speaking, dancing her way to the messy bed. Urik found an uncomfortable place on the floor to rest, and I know not where Rorick took himself. C'hallah and I made our way outside to find Eckbert kneeling in prayer to Agrivarus - seeking to save his soul or his life, I do not know, but the boy may bear watching, given the strain he is - we are all - under.
That was it. I should sleep now. I hope I dream that I am back in Bandui, so at least while unconscious I can be dry and clean. For I know that tomorrow's - today's - journeys will be dreary and miserable. But at least we have accomplished our task and can return home.
After we had attended to the matter of the goblin's den, some of us were all for striking back to the road, to make camp and proceed on our journey to the witch. Apple Rabbit would have none of it. In a strangely energetic mood, considering all we had been through, she exhorted us to continue into the swamp, insisting that the way would be shorter and more direct. In any case, she refused to camp anywhere near the goblin remains, and so we set off through the mire.
After a journey of an hour or so, we found a spot adjudged to be a good place for a camp: the ground was relatively high and dry, and there seemed to be no immediate threat in the area. It was unusually quiet; AppleRabbit seemed perturbed that there weren't more tracks or spoor in the area. We choose to remain nonetheless, and to post double-watches throughout the night: first Apple and Eckbert, then Zinna with Urik and Rorick with his bird in the darkest hours, and finally C'hallah and I to welcome the dawn. I settled in for the night, not really expecting to be able to sleep all the way though until my watch. I hate it when I am right.
I was awakened by shouts from Rorick that we were being advanced upon. It was pitch-black; I could only assume my companion's dwarven eyes had seem something in the dark. I murmured a spell and threw magical light on a stone in the ground, illuminating the scene. I could see Rorick standing steadfast on the edge of our little rise, and at the edge of the torchlike light I barely made out a group of unearthly figures moving toward us. I sent C'hallah to defend Rorcik and roused myself for battle, as my comrades were doing.
We formed a skirmish line as the creatures advanced; they looked something like the undead I have fought in the jangwa, but were the opposite of those desiccated skeletons - they were foul, soggy, pale creatures. They bounced like the marionettes I have seen in market shows, and moved as one, like a flock of birds, but were orienting themselves by smell, as I have seen camels do. The padded through the shallow water in a most unnerving way and were on us even before we could completely form up.
The attacks were vicious and the conflict ferocious; our best efforts seemed for naught as the creatures seemed to absorb our strikes with little damage as they clawed at us with vicious determination. Those struck - first C'hallah, then young Eckbert - not only felt their wounds, but also collapsed as if suddenly struck with disease or illness, rendering them unable to fight. Once bloodied, our ghoulish foes would concentrate their attacks on the injured, as if to destroy them completely.
It was that bloodlust that provided us with the strategy that allowed us to drag victory clear from the mud of despair: the wounded retreated behind our ranks, and as the monsters single-mindedly went for them and made to get past us, we were able to attack when they were vulnerable, finally turning the tide in our favor. Our success became guaranteed when dim Zinna finally realized that edge of her swords were more effective than the points against these monsters; once this stratagem penetrated her mind, she began to make quick work of her foes, and even sliced one gruesome combatant into pieces with a series of coordinated blows.
When the battle was finally ended, Urik set to work like a butcher, hacking the monsters' bodies into bits as the rest of the party caught our breath or vomited out the noisome effects of the injuries. The witch doctor seemed particularly unnerved by these creatures, muttering over and over how unnatural they were and naming them unfeeling where I saw undead, as if that distinction were more important.
After this episode, we were exhausted, especially those that had been sickened, and wanted nothing more than to continue our interrupted sleep. AppleRabbit, however, had other plans for us. She insisted that we could not stay at this campground - that the blood we had spilled would attract other predators. She elaborated that nighttime was particularly unsafe in the swamp, as it was when most threats abounded, said that only in the muggy heat of the day could we safely sleep, and demanded that we keep on the move until full daybreak. So we slogged on.
I cannot express in writing how awful the swamp is. Every step makes one wetter, from standing water, from splashed water, from dripping water, from humidity, from brushing wet foliage, from the sweat of exertion. The trees make a canopy that blocks the feeble light from this northern moon, and stars - forget stars. It is nothing but a dank, dark box, a basket woven of shit and compost. Rorick was clearly ill at lease, less concerned with the wet than with the lack of any really solid ground for his dwarven feet to plant on: he looked like he was walking on the eggs of poisonous snakes. Eckbert and Zinna just looked miserable as they trudged, and even Urik was not spouting his usual platitudes of pain. In contrast, Apple was in fine spirits: I have no idea how she navigated through the gloom, but her urgings moved us forward doggedly through this moist hell, until, of course, as usual, it got worse.
Our first notice of trouble was Zinna's sudden stopping. She had been taking point, and all of a sudden she froze, like a bird dog who has caught scent of a zombie. It turns out she was not vigilant, but stuck - as Urik found when he hastened to her side and was similarly caught. Both had stepped into some kind of sticky trap that held them fast.
Exactly what kind of trap we soon found out, as Eckbert and I both dodged webs sprayed from some spiderish creature in the overhanging branches. Something had laid an ambush for us, and it was effective. After the first fusillade, more webs sprayed down, and Eckbert and I were held as fast as the two half-orcs. Applerabbit managed to hide outside the webbed area near a tree with C'hallah, who was in no condition to render anyone aid, and began firing shots with her sling. Rorick managed to use his blink magic to move out of the sticky mess and engage with his axe.
It was a slow torture. First one creature, a sort of spider-man, harassed the van; then his brother or mate appeared behind me and raked my back most viciously. The horrible creatures attacked us, entangled as we were, almost at will, and with each blow we could feel poisons eating away at our vitality; some of us managed with effort to fight off the symptoms, but some of us succumbed and became slower and less effective, hastening us to our dooms through increasingly futile defenses. Zinna squirmed and danced but could not free herself for the longest time; Eckbert took many blows and I saw him fall, bloodied and bowed yet still conscious. It looked grim.
Finally, Zinna freed herself and joined Rorick and his bird in their assault on the first creature to devastating effect. Urik cast blood on the creature attacking me and felled him, giving me the chance to deliver a serious blow on his helpless form. By the first faint fingers of dawn I saw Rorick cleave his foe; my hopes flew high, but were dragged back to the fetid earth by a severe blow from my enemy, who was still fighting. My vision swam and the world turned blacker.
I awoke in a campground to the not-so-tender mercies of Urik. He and AppleRabbit were moving amongst the party, healing wounds and trying his best to stem the ill-effects of the spider-man poison. It seemed that the battle had been won after I fell; Urik had slashed himself free and between his attacks and AppleRabbit - little AppleRabbit! - landing a telling blow with her tiny club, the last creature was dispatched. The party and C'hallah had dragged me away with them and we finally made camp in the shelter of the swelter of the day.
A full cycle of sleep had passed ere I awoke, and several more hours passed as Urik attended to his healing duties. I felt awful, as we did we all, but grew stronger each moment as we rested; Zinna, Exckbert, and Rorick appeared not to fare so well, still showing some after-effects of the spider-poison. We finally were ready to make way again in the early afternoon; by whatever divination she was using, AppleRabbit assured us that we would find the oracle by sundown if we made haste.
We struggled on through the swamp; I cannot say that the daylight was more pleasant than the night and remain honest, but at least it was less dangerous. The falling sun filtered through the leaves above, making the going a bit easier, and the only creatures we encountered were herbivorous or asleep: nothing tried to kill us.
As night fell, we came to a decrepit shack on a small knoll rising from the swamp; it looked like nothing more than one of the squatter's shacks in the shantytown outside great Feck, with the added squalor of dampness and moss. My first thought (and I do not think I was alone in thinking this) was great disappointment - that AppleRabbit had been led astray and that our journey was fruitless. Then, in what would be the queerest night of my life, we found were were indeed in the right place. It is hard to remember it all, even though it happened less than an hour ago; I viewed it through the fog of fatigue and a veil of something else, something bewitching or beguiling.
We approached the house, if it can be called that, and AppleRabbit was beside herself with wonder, taking in the scene, dancing about, picking mushrooms - acting for all the word like C'hallah does when we discover a fresh oasis. Then, a beautiful woman approached us - more beautiful even than charming Sprig. - looking so out of place in this dreary landscape, yet clearly in it and of it. Apple nearly swooned - watching her was like seeing someone meet their lover, their mother, and their god all in the selfsame person. It was awesome, and just a bit disturbing.
Conversation ensued, friendly, but hard to follow. Isis - for that is indeed who she was, although she was known by other names as well - seemed to talk to us each in turn and yet all at the same time. Her mouth would sometime open but no words at all come out; then again, sometimes I would hear her speak and yet swear her lips were not moving at all. Rorick seemed to think she spoke with a Dwarven accent; I wonder if she was speaking at all of if we were hearing her in our heads. It was all very confusing.
AppleRabbit gifted Iris with the ring we had recovered from the goblins; the witch accepted it graciously if not over-gratefully and our little gnome once again blushed like lover. I attempted to offer her the fey-killing dagger we had taken from the Rashemi witch, thinking she might wish to rid the world of a threat to her; she wrapped it in a soiled cloth and disdainfully bade me put it away. I was happy to see my diplomatic skills had not changed; it gave me some grounding in the weirdness around us that I was still myself.
We entered the shack, which glistened like an apothecary with bottles and notions, to continue the chewing the meat of our conversation. Isis seemed only too happy to talk: in spite of - or perhaps because of - her being so deep in such an unwelcoming landscape, she seemed greedy for company. We continued our strange conversations - I noticed she gave me some signals about Urik, which I plan to discuss with him when I can, and another message that would be disquieting if not so ridiculous. These subtle communications - under-messages, if you will - are probably best dismissed, as is the babble of the marketplace and gossip of the caravan.
We addressed the purpose of our visit: Zinna gave Isis the bloody bag of bloody coins that she has been carrying ever since we found the dead miller. The oracle put them in her mouth one by one and seemed to be talking to the dead man. All I could discern from her mumblings was that the ambushers were not of the Seven Pillars; perhaps my companions will remember more, for that seems like we came a long way for very little intelligence.
Isis off-handedly answered another question in the course of her ramblings: without identifying who, she said that the rider whose tracks we had seen around the ruins of the pillaged caravan had taken the remains of the merchants back to Grelsh. And good friend Rorick revealed as Isis's prodding that he had originally been hired by Helion and the half-elves of Crespin to spy on the Nackle and that his encounter with us was no mere chance. His allegiance to us as a comrade-in-arms has never felt in doubt, but clearly he can present himself as a minion of Crespin and of Nackle and of the Stealer's Guild, so who knows where his real allegiance is. More mysteries.
Eckbert seemed to have had his full of mysteries and in the middle of the discourse burst out into indignant, inchoate rambling, then strode from the room.
The witch then seemed to want to converse more about the people we had encountered or heard of, but she spoke mostly in riddles so deep that poor Zinna faded to sleep on a bearskin rug even before the evening was over. The witch said quite a bit; I tried to write down her words as she spoke and have attached the parchment scraps hereto:
When talking was finally done, Isis said we would leave in the morning, and invited - no, commanded - AppleRabbit to sleep with her. The gnome was thrilled and stripped herself naked even before Isis was finished speaking, dancing her way to the messy bed. Urik found an uncomfortable place on the floor to rest, and I know not where Rorick took himself. C'hallah and I made our way outside to find Eckbert kneeling in prayer to Agrivarus - seeking to save his soul or his life, I do not know, but the boy may bear watching, given the strain he is - we are all - under.
That was it. I should sleep now. I hope I dream that I am back in Bandui, so at least while unconscious I can be dry and clean. For I know that tomorrow's - today's - journeys will be dreary and miserable. But at least we have accomplished our task and can return home.
I don't believe in heroism; I know it's easy and I've learned it can be murderous.
I am writing in the damp and the dark of this place called a swamp. But let me not get ahead of myself; there is much to record.
After the misadventure, so many days ago, that led to the death of Stuckey, our little family of friends actually had some time to take a breath. As we sought information as to the whereabouts of the oracle or witch called Iris, we tried to establish some order, however transitory or imaginary, to our lives here in Grelsh.
For my part, having secured space at the White Widow Inn, I was able to join in the commercial enterprises at the Trades Meet, a market held at the nearby crossroads. I gathered some nice reeds from a nearby stream and from the Big River; not as good as the mianzi of home, but serviceable enough after drying. I was able to once again make baskets; the space that Mariah had let me as a workshop was more than sufficient for the task, and it appears my skills have not left me. I have built a relationship, perhaps the beginnings of friendship, with Tarrow, a competent trapper who prepares meats and hides for sale, and Vanya, a smith, and through their offices secured a small stall at Trades Meet. I have staked a claim (I believe that is the term) on some land not far from the Widow's and began building a rudimentary cabin for myself; without skills, it will take a while, but I may have a home for myself and C'hallah someday.
The rest of my fellow outlanders joined me in residence at the the Widow - I believe the memories of Stuckey may haunt some of them - so our daily contact continued undiminished.
I was able to persuade my new associates to let a stall to Urik on the edges of the meet; the Trades Meet merchants are not all citizens of Grelsh, and are less particular about who joins in. Urik offers healing services for donations only - on the condition that the procedures are as painful as they are ameliorative. Nonetheless, he gets a steady trade. He offers tattooing as well, and has marked several residents, including some of the would-be rogues who earlier molested us and whom we chastised.
AppleRabbit, who seems to have developed a surprising fondness for Urik, joins him in the stall and ministers to animals much as he does to people, only without a specific pain requirement. Like the witch doctor, she accepts only gifts in payment, and has amassed quite a collection of trinkets and artifacts, which seem to please her capricious nature immensely.
Zinna has been spending her days with members of the Stealer's Guild. I do not think she is pursuing the goals of The Nackle; in fact, sometimes I think - no, I know - that she has forgotten that scheme in which we are involved. The Guild is just a familiar place for her, and it gives her contentment to be with others of her "trade" and know her role and use her skills. I persuaded Vanya to barter with her and remove the Pillar symbols from the swords we acquired from the hobgoblins; they are of very good quality and Zinna is very pleased to be wielding them. She is also learning to swim.
We do not see much of Rorick; he spends much time at the library. He tried to turn his scholarship to profit by entering the scroll-scribing business, but met with failure in a weak market. I think this added to his already ill-humor after the loss of Stuckey and he has kept much to himself.
As I look back over this entry in the dim light filtering through the trees (so many trees!), I see that I write as if all this had become the normal course for our lives; indeed, it was so, but for a brief week or two. Of course, like all good things, it came to an end. As usual, it was the Lady Pasha who ended our idyll, but before that, there was a prelude. This was just yesterday.
Zinna, AppleRabbit, and Rorick (out in broad daylight for a change), were at the mouth of the Big River; Zinna was practicing swimming while the others were seeking a local fish whose intestines provided ingredients to make dyes useful in tattooing. Apparently, our little gnome was spectacularly unsuccessful in attempting to persuade one large specimen to come into her net by speaking to it, but a local youth, who was spearfishing nearby, impaled the creature easily and added it to his catch. One thing led to another (as it always does when AppleRabbit is involved): she bartered with the youth, oranges for fish guts, and engaged him in further conversation, finding that he was a farmboy and something of a local prodigy with the spear, having won some sort of contest against other townsmen. Further, he seemed to have some wanderlust and a taste for "adventuring."
It was then that Urik and I arrived to fetch our companions for dinner, just in time to hear AppleRabbit proffer membership in our little band to the youth. I could see in his eyes a battle between desire and apprehension; a chance for a more exciting life than farming weighed against the strangeness of joining a company of non-humans. I attempted to advise him to run back to the shelter of his mother's arms and the comfort of his plow, but the allure proved too great and it was agreed he would not only join us for dinner at the Widow's but accompany us on our trip to find Iris.
He seems about the same age as Stuckey.
Dinner was splendid, as usual; the youth, Eckbert by name, seemed as awed by the offerings of the table as Zinna had been at first; but as she has become an expert-level trencherman, so I expect Eckbert to quickly grow accustomed to spices and lemons and goat cheese in the same way. It is the nature of the young to adapt.
In what is becoming a habit (or recurring nightmare), our meal was interrupted by the beautiful and peremptory Lady Pasha. She took our measure and began without preamble, as usual, except to note the presence of Eckbert, with whose prowess she was familiar, and to approve his inclusion in the group. The boy's amazement was palpable.
Pasha told us that an unguarded caravan - a "piggie" in the local parlance, relying on the protection of strangers - had been taken on the south road. This action had been observed at a distance (but not interfered with) by another caravan, which had sent a messenger back to Grelsh to report the news. Since we planned to be heading south to find Iris, she wanted us to take on, as an additional task, any opportunistic punitive action against bandits that we could. Since we are taking the caliph's shekel, as it were, we could not but accede to this request. We decided to begin our journey south forthwith, and so finished dinner and made an early evening. Eckbert went back to his farm, planning to return to the White Widow and set out with us first thing in the morning.
True to his word, Eckbert returned at dawn, eager as a puppy to leave Grelsh and explore. I arranged affairs at Trades Meet with Tarrow as the party collected itself, and after breakfast we set out on the south road, which eventually arrives at Crespin. (I hoped we would not be walking all the way there!) There was a noticeable lack of traffic on the usually well-travelled road; I took this as a bad omen.
We journeyed throughout the day, camped once at a wayspot, and continued again the second day. Sometime after luncheon on that day, Zinna and I spied smoke, perhaps a campfire, coming from the woods off to the east of the road. Zinna, AppleRabbit, and Rorick made for the spot through the woods, while Urik, Eckbert, and I continued on the road to find a cleared access. When we converged on the spot, we found clear signs of banditry. The smoldering remains of an empty wagon was the source of the smoke we had seen; attached to the wreckage was the mutilated remains of a horse, which had been cruelly killed, but there were no humanoid bodies. We found the tracks of small feet leading away, along with clear indications that cargo had been dragged from the clearing and into the swamp forest, but the most puzzling of all were the signs that a rider had come from the north, circled the scene, and then headed back to Grelsh. It seemed unlikely that this was the messenger from the other caravan; the approach made no sense and the report given in town had not included the details of the scene.
That was a mystery to be solved another time; we forged ahead into the swamp, following the tracks easily. The landscape was bizarre to my eyes: standing water everywhere, except for narrow trails of high ground; mud and muck and moss encrusting everything; thick growths of weird grasses and low hanging trees. AppleRabbit seemed to gain energy from the place and clearly felt right at home; the others seemed a bit awkward and ill-at-ease; for our parts, C'hallah and I were miserable - but why should we have expected otherwise?
We proceeded forward, and at a certain point we came upon a sort of clearing near a river where the trees thinned out a bit and pools of muddy water dotted the area; some sort of animal-made den or warren, much like a dam, spanned the river directly in front of us. Perhaps recalling the riverside ambush that followed the murder of Stuckey, Rorick took out a scroll and prepared to read a protective spell. It turned out that act, instead of safeguarding him, nearly led to his doom, for a soon as he unrolled the paper, a volley of arrows came from the foliage and the battle was on!
We were beset upon by goblins - the vicious little creatures seemed to lurk in the branches of every tree near us. Rorick immediately fell under the hail of missiles as we engaged. Zinna and C'hallah leapt into the trees to my left to engage the creatures there face to face, joined by Rorick's bird; Eckbert moved in to join them, reaching high into the trees with his spear. Apple raced to aid Rorick, and Urik moved toward the trees on my right, nicking himself with a sharp fingernail and casting spell-laded blood toward our foes - a grim sight, indeed. I peppered our enemies with arrows, but the foliage made attacks difficult and the struggle was tremendous.
We pressed against the onslaught like camels fighting through a haboob. Rorick arose after AppleRabbit's attentions and joined the advance with his heavy crossbow. It was a good thing, too, as another small wave of goblins crested the dam and joined the assault from afar. Apple enchanted the ground around them and they became entangled in roots and leaves that seemed to come alive and grasp at them; this slowed their advance and left them with only ranged attacks as their option.
The battle thus broke into two fronts: close combat with the goblins in the trees peppering us like demented monkeys, and exchanges of missile volleys with the far-off creatures. More slowly than it should have taken, we turned the tide, eliminating the nearer creatures and, after AppleRabbit removed her enchantment, closing on the remaining adversaries and cutting them down.
One creature attempted to flee; Zinna and C'hallah chased him across the dam over the river. He was felled by one of Urik's spells as he reached the far side and the ape easily retrieved him, but Zinna lost her footing on the wet branches and mud and fell into the river. While this chase was happening, AppleRabbit, seemingly overcome with emotion, was keening and moaning and acting like a person possessed: the insult these creatures had done to her swamp was more than she could bear and an ancient enmity seemed to be taking hold of her, turning her energy ferocious.
Even as the battle wound down, everything seemed to be happening at once: Zinna was swept under the dam; we heard whimpering from inside the structure; the goblin awoke from the enchantment and we tried to gain useful intelligence from him; Eckbert and Rorick attempted to find Zinna and make entry into the dam. Then two things happened:
∆ Zinna burst through the top of the dam from the inside, apparently having gained entrance from underwater.
∆ AppleRabbit leapt upon the goblin, hurling vicious threats into his face and finally head-butting him in her rage; as he fought back, Urik and I easily dispatched him.
Inside the dam, we found several juvenile goblins; the foul creatures hissed and spat at us as we moved through the stinking innards of the enclosed space. We found trade goods, apparently those taken from the "piggie" wagon; the were all befouled and beyond salvage for any civilized use. I'm not sure light-fingered Zinna even found anything worth taking for her personal gain.
Disgusted and dispirited, we watched as AppleRabbit performed some kind of cleansing ritual on the young monsters. We dragged the other corpses into the dam and dumped them into the nest, finding on the apparent leader a stolen ring that Rorick said had some magick; AppleRabbit took it as partial restitution for the despoliation of her beloved swamp.
Then with fire from Rorick's fingers we burned the place.
It was a gruesome task, but none raised an objection as the foul roost burned to below the waterline. I have fought zombies in the jangwa who made my flesh crawl with dread; these goblins were of a like kind, in my mind. I wonder how Eckbert feels about "adventuring" now.
...
I was about to return to the group in our camp, but two other thoughts have occurred to me:
∆ Who was the rider who investigated the scene of the attack?
∆ Where are the bodies of caravan personnel?
Dispatching the goblin might have been hasty: we have more questions than answers.
Nevertheless, we have flown the flag of Grelsh and showed that caravans cannot be attacked with impunity. I guess we are heroes.
After the misadventure, so many days ago, that led to the death of Stuckey, our little family of friends actually had some time to take a breath. As we sought information as to the whereabouts of the oracle or witch called Iris, we tried to establish some order, however transitory or imaginary, to our lives here in Grelsh.
For my part, having secured space at the White Widow Inn, I was able to join in the commercial enterprises at the Trades Meet, a market held at the nearby crossroads. I gathered some nice reeds from a nearby stream and from the Big River; not as good as the mianzi of home, but serviceable enough after drying. I was able to once again make baskets; the space that Mariah had let me as a workshop was more than sufficient for the task, and it appears my skills have not left me. I have built a relationship, perhaps the beginnings of friendship, with Tarrow, a competent trapper who prepares meats and hides for sale, and Vanya, a smith, and through their offices secured a small stall at Trades Meet. I have staked a claim (I believe that is the term) on some land not far from the Widow's and began building a rudimentary cabin for myself; without skills, it will take a while, but I may have a home for myself and C'hallah someday.
The rest of my fellow outlanders joined me in residence at the the Widow - I believe the memories of Stuckey may haunt some of them - so our daily contact continued undiminished.
I was able to persuade my new associates to let a stall to Urik on the edges of the meet; the Trades Meet merchants are not all citizens of Grelsh, and are less particular about who joins in. Urik offers healing services for donations only - on the condition that the procedures are as painful as they are ameliorative. Nonetheless, he gets a steady trade. He offers tattooing as well, and has marked several residents, including some of the would-be rogues who earlier molested us and whom we chastised.
AppleRabbit, who seems to have developed a surprising fondness for Urik, joins him in the stall and ministers to animals much as he does to people, only without a specific pain requirement. Like the witch doctor, she accepts only gifts in payment, and has amassed quite a collection of trinkets and artifacts, which seem to please her capricious nature immensely.
Zinna has been spending her days with members of the Stealer's Guild. I do not think she is pursuing the goals of The Nackle; in fact, sometimes I think - no, I know - that she has forgotten that scheme in which we are involved. The Guild is just a familiar place for her, and it gives her contentment to be with others of her "trade" and know her role and use her skills. I persuaded Vanya to barter with her and remove the Pillar symbols from the swords we acquired from the hobgoblins; they are of very good quality and Zinna is very pleased to be wielding them. She is also learning to swim.
We do not see much of Rorick; he spends much time at the library. He tried to turn his scholarship to profit by entering the scroll-scribing business, but met with failure in a weak market. I think this added to his already ill-humor after the loss of Stuckey and he has kept much to himself.
As I look back over this entry in the dim light filtering through the trees (so many trees!), I see that I write as if all this had become the normal course for our lives; indeed, it was so, but for a brief week or two. Of course, like all good things, it came to an end. As usual, it was the Lady Pasha who ended our idyll, but before that, there was a prelude. This was just yesterday.
Zinna, AppleRabbit, and Rorick (out in broad daylight for a change), were at the mouth of the Big River; Zinna was practicing swimming while the others were seeking a local fish whose intestines provided ingredients to make dyes useful in tattooing. Apparently, our little gnome was spectacularly unsuccessful in attempting to persuade one large specimen to come into her net by speaking to it, but a local youth, who was spearfishing nearby, impaled the creature easily and added it to his catch. One thing led to another (as it always does when AppleRabbit is involved): she bartered with the youth, oranges for fish guts, and engaged him in further conversation, finding that he was a farmboy and something of a local prodigy with the spear, having won some sort of contest against other townsmen. Further, he seemed to have some wanderlust and a taste for "adventuring."
It was then that Urik and I arrived to fetch our companions for dinner, just in time to hear AppleRabbit proffer membership in our little band to the youth. I could see in his eyes a battle between desire and apprehension; a chance for a more exciting life than farming weighed against the strangeness of joining a company of non-humans. I attempted to advise him to run back to the shelter of his mother's arms and the comfort of his plow, but the allure proved too great and it was agreed he would not only join us for dinner at the Widow's but accompany us on our trip to find Iris.
He seems about the same age as Stuckey.
Dinner was splendid, as usual; the youth, Eckbert by name, seemed as awed by the offerings of the table as Zinna had been at first; but as she has become an expert-level trencherman, so I expect Eckbert to quickly grow accustomed to spices and lemons and goat cheese in the same way. It is the nature of the young to adapt.
In what is becoming a habit (or recurring nightmare), our meal was interrupted by the beautiful and peremptory Lady Pasha. She took our measure and began without preamble, as usual, except to note the presence of Eckbert, with whose prowess she was familiar, and to approve his inclusion in the group. The boy's amazement was palpable.
Pasha told us that an unguarded caravan - a "piggie" in the local parlance, relying on the protection of strangers - had been taken on the south road. This action had been observed at a distance (but not interfered with) by another caravan, which had sent a messenger back to Grelsh to report the news. Since we planned to be heading south to find Iris, she wanted us to take on, as an additional task, any opportunistic punitive action against bandits that we could. Since we are taking the caliph's shekel, as it were, we could not but accede to this request. We decided to begin our journey south forthwith, and so finished dinner and made an early evening. Eckbert went back to his farm, planning to return to the White Widow and set out with us first thing in the morning.
True to his word, Eckbert returned at dawn, eager as a puppy to leave Grelsh and explore. I arranged affairs at Trades Meet with Tarrow as the party collected itself, and after breakfast we set out on the south road, which eventually arrives at Crespin. (I hoped we would not be walking all the way there!) There was a noticeable lack of traffic on the usually well-travelled road; I took this as a bad omen.
We journeyed throughout the day, camped once at a wayspot, and continued again the second day. Sometime after luncheon on that day, Zinna and I spied smoke, perhaps a campfire, coming from the woods off to the east of the road. Zinna, AppleRabbit, and Rorick made for the spot through the woods, while Urik, Eckbert, and I continued on the road to find a cleared access. When we converged on the spot, we found clear signs of banditry. The smoldering remains of an empty wagon was the source of the smoke we had seen; attached to the wreckage was the mutilated remains of a horse, which had been cruelly killed, but there were no humanoid bodies. We found the tracks of small feet leading away, along with clear indications that cargo had been dragged from the clearing and into the swamp forest, but the most puzzling of all were the signs that a rider had come from the north, circled the scene, and then headed back to Grelsh. It seemed unlikely that this was the messenger from the other caravan; the approach made no sense and the report given in town had not included the details of the scene.
That was a mystery to be solved another time; we forged ahead into the swamp, following the tracks easily. The landscape was bizarre to my eyes: standing water everywhere, except for narrow trails of high ground; mud and muck and moss encrusting everything; thick growths of weird grasses and low hanging trees. AppleRabbit seemed to gain energy from the place and clearly felt right at home; the others seemed a bit awkward and ill-at-ease; for our parts, C'hallah and I were miserable - but why should we have expected otherwise?
We proceeded forward, and at a certain point we came upon a sort of clearing near a river where the trees thinned out a bit and pools of muddy water dotted the area; some sort of animal-made den or warren, much like a dam, spanned the river directly in front of us. Perhaps recalling the riverside ambush that followed the murder of Stuckey, Rorick took out a scroll and prepared to read a protective spell. It turned out that act, instead of safeguarding him, nearly led to his doom, for a soon as he unrolled the paper, a volley of arrows came from the foliage and the battle was on!
We were beset upon by goblins - the vicious little creatures seemed to lurk in the branches of every tree near us. Rorick immediately fell under the hail of missiles as we engaged. Zinna and C'hallah leapt into the trees to my left to engage the creatures there face to face, joined by Rorick's bird; Eckbert moved in to join them, reaching high into the trees with his spear. Apple raced to aid Rorick, and Urik moved toward the trees on my right, nicking himself with a sharp fingernail and casting spell-laded blood toward our foes - a grim sight, indeed. I peppered our enemies with arrows, but the foliage made attacks difficult and the struggle was tremendous.
We pressed against the onslaught like camels fighting through a haboob. Rorick arose after AppleRabbit's attentions and joined the advance with his heavy crossbow. It was a good thing, too, as another small wave of goblins crested the dam and joined the assault from afar. Apple enchanted the ground around them and they became entangled in roots and leaves that seemed to come alive and grasp at them; this slowed their advance and left them with only ranged attacks as their option.
The battle thus broke into two fronts: close combat with the goblins in the trees peppering us like demented monkeys, and exchanges of missile volleys with the far-off creatures. More slowly than it should have taken, we turned the tide, eliminating the nearer creatures and, after AppleRabbit removed her enchantment, closing on the remaining adversaries and cutting them down.
One creature attempted to flee; Zinna and C'hallah chased him across the dam over the river. He was felled by one of Urik's spells as he reached the far side and the ape easily retrieved him, but Zinna lost her footing on the wet branches and mud and fell into the river. While this chase was happening, AppleRabbit, seemingly overcome with emotion, was keening and moaning and acting like a person possessed: the insult these creatures had done to her swamp was more than she could bear and an ancient enmity seemed to be taking hold of her, turning her energy ferocious.
Even as the battle wound down, everything seemed to be happening at once: Zinna was swept under the dam; we heard whimpering from inside the structure; the goblin awoke from the enchantment and we tried to gain useful intelligence from him; Eckbert and Rorick attempted to find Zinna and make entry into the dam. Then two things happened:
∆ Zinna burst through the top of the dam from the inside, apparently having gained entrance from underwater.
∆ AppleRabbit leapt upon the goblin, hurling vicious threats into his face and finally head-butting him in her rage; as he fought back, Urik and I easily dispatched him.
Inside the dam, we found several juvenile goblins; the foul creatures hissed and spat at us as we moved through the stinking innards of the enclosed space. We found trade goods, apparently those taken from the "piggie" wagon; the were all befouled and beyond salvage for any civilized use. I'm not sure light-fingered Zinna even found anything worth taking for her personal gain.
Disgusted and dispirited, we watched as AppleRabbit performed some kind of cleansing ritual on the young monsters. We dragged the other corpses into the dam and dumped them into the nest, finding on the apparent leader a stolen ring that Rorick said had some magick; AppleRabbit took it as partial restitution for the despoliation of her beloved swamp.
Then with fire from Rorick's fingers we burned the place.
It was a gruesome task, but none raised an objection as the foul roost burned to below the waterline. I have fought zombies in the jangwa who made my flesh crawl with dread; these goblins were of a like kind, in my mind. I wonder how Eckbert feels about "adventuring" now.
...
I was about to return to the group in our camp, but two other thoughts have occurred to me:
∆ Who was the rider who investigated the scene of the attack?
∆ Where are the bodies of caravan personnel?
Dispatching the goblin might have been hasty: we have more questions than answers.
Nevertheless, we have flown the flag of Grelsh and showed that caravans cannot be attacked with impunity. I guess we are heroes.
There are crimes of passion and crimes of logic. The boundary between them is not clearly defined.
So much for cliffhangers.
I left off my last entry because I though that Pince and Sprig were approaching. I was incorrect; it was merely two of the sailors who occasionally cone to the Grass Pipe for evening drinks. Although we remained in the dining room all evening, the pair never showed up; we passed the night introducing Urik to orombo as he had never eaten lemons before. This spectacle was slightly more compelling that the prior experiment with oranges, but I am wondering how long this fruit theme will last.
Stuckey shrugged off his colleagues' missing their appointed arrival, saying that they were busy and had undoubtedly already become cognizant of us and would appear at their leisure; he frightened Zinna who for a moment thought they were invisible spirits who might materialize at any moment. It did not take overlong to calm her down. And so we went to our separate beds.
In the morning, Stuckey prepared us a hasty breakfast and then bade us depart; he was once again calling a closed house as he had errands to run. We each made our separate ways to spend the day. I shall relate our adventures as narrative here, although naturally I had no knowledge of my comrades' activities until we regrouped at night.
I went first to the town center to see about securing a small cottage for a workshop and domicile; I was turned away for reasons of my birthright: apparently homes and enterprises within the city are reserved for citizens - human citizens, if I understand correctly. It was a bit comforting to feel such prejudice leveled against me, as it confirmed in my heart the banal wretchedness of my existence: our pleasant life in the Grass Pipe was, it turned out, an anomaly after all. I feel that Nackle Tarren may find us foreigners useful, but Grelsh may not have much use for us at all.
At least the clerk was kind enough to direct me out of town to another inn, the White Widow, which he said had larger rooms. I found it a short walk south of town, at a crossroads that held a thriving market. The proprietress was a peaceful woman, who was willing to rent me a large space, suitable for both living and crafting, and expressed confidence that I could join the market as a seller. I reserved the rooms for a goodly time and told her I might bring her more residents. After this exchange, I made leisurely walk back toward the Grelsh market.
As I was so occupied, Zinna, prompted by the ever-suspicious Urik, had taken to following Stuckey as he left on his errands. She observed him head toward the dock and board a craft, a distinctive-looking yellow and black boat we had seen earlier called the Blessed Bee. He stayed a short while and emerged with two companions; the three stopped at a merchant for what appeared to be provisions and weapons and then trekked far north and east out of town. Zinna followed for as long as she was able, but they were making haste and she was unfamiliar with the territory and so lost them after some time. She made her way warily back to town for a dinner at the market.
While we were thus diversely busy, Rorick was burying himself in some arcane study, and Urik and AppleRabbit had taken to the woods to scar each other with lemon tattoos. When I saw the final artwork, each looked more like a depiction of a diseased eye or perhaps a misshapen egg, but I was too polite to mention this, and my opinion was not asked in any case.
We all met up again in the market at dinnertime, and conversed easily, sharing news of our activities and discoveries. Eventually, we noticed that the Grass Pipe seemed active again and returned "home" to find not Stuckey but a beautiful human woman behind the bar.
It turned out that this was the notable Sprig, running the inn while Stuckey was away. She was more than beautiful; she charmed everyone she met. Watching her work made us realize just what a callow boy Stuckey was. He ran the bar with puppyish enthusiasm; Sprig with grace and elan. It was the liveliest and most companionable evening we had spent at the inn. Towards the end of the evening, we met Pince - a strapping man obviously completely smitten with Sprig. Both of them seemed to know Zinna by reputation; it seems that if we are to make any headway joining the Stealers' Guild, it will be through our forgetful Sandey.
Eventually, Pince revealed to us why Stuckey was absent from the Inn: the young man was working his way up the ranks of the Guild, and he was on a mission with his two elder brothers to intercept one of two great logs sent downstream by the Wood Elves. To feed the constant construction in Grelsh, Nackle has a treaty with Ipiphan, the Woody leader, for routine deliveries of timber. The Guild occasionally re-routes one of the logs for their own disposal. The adventure usually takes only a day, and Pince and Sprig had begun to worry that something had gone amiss, since the runner, a fourth party serving as lookout and communicator, had not arrived.
Urik immediately volunteered to head upriver and search for the missing thieves; whether this offer sprang from a desire to make the Guild more fond of him, or out of genuine concern for Stuckey, or from some perverse desire for danger, I do not know. In any case, Sprig advised us to wait until morning, as there was likely just some technical delay and no cause for alarm at all. So we drank some more and then went to bed.
The next morning Sprig prepared us breakfast; the runner had still not arrived and her concern was growing greater, so my comrades and I immediately set off with her directions to try to find these errant timberjacks. We followed the coast to the mouth of the river, and then followed the river upstream, looking for a peculiar triad tree that Sprig had described. It was near this tree that the log would have been diverted from its course down to Grelsh. If there had been misadventure, it would have been near there. As it turned out, there had been misadventure of the worst kind.
Toward mid-afternoon, we did find the tree, and began to make our way closer to the riverbank to investigate. Most of us approached on guard and wary; Urik, for his part, began strolling toward the water as if on a walk through downtown Grelsh. From the cover of the brush, some of us saw a man impaled on a tree at the far edge of a small clearing, hanging some few feet off the ground; we took pains to be cautious and vigilant, for this alerted us to several figures hiding in cover on the other side of the clearing, and we feared ambush. This assessment proved grimly correct when Urik was fired upon from the far river bank. That arrow missed its target, but the battle was on.
Urik and Zinna were set upon by several hobgoblins in an open area near the river's edge, at the same time taking the archer's fire from across the river itself. For our part, AppleRabbit, Rorick, C'hallah, and I had but one foe; however, he was an enormous Bugbear with massive strength and murderous intent, and I feel we actually bore the brunt of the battle. I had readied a magic stone and managed a sure hit on the creature as he charged me; I was sure I dealt him as much damage as I had ever done in battle before, but it barely slowed him down, and with one swipe of his enormous club he nearly took all life from me.
The rest of the battle is a little hazy; I know Rorick conjured a magical dog from the aether and the poor animal was summarily crushed by the Bugbear. I felt AppleRabbit's magic restore my strength, only to see her go down a short time later, unconscious from wounds. Rorick and I continued to engage the massive creature until ultimately it fell - onto AppleRabbit, as our luck would have it.
Zinna and Urik seemed to have had better luck besting their foes - when I could check, two lay dead and one had fled into the river along with the archer, beyond pursuit. Urik used some of his cruel healing on AppleRabbit before I could help her in any gentler way. With the threat gone, we were able to take stock of the situation, and this was the grim inventory:
We made our weary way back the The Grass Pipe. We gave our sad news to Sprig, who was once again working the bar; she was overcome with grief and disappeared sobbing. Apparently her concern for the boy Stuckey went beyond simple affection. Pince joined us to hear our tale, holding his own sorrow in check long enough to tell us that we must meet Cavendish (the leader of the Guild?) to apprise him of this situation. Cavendish abode on the Blessed Bee and Pince assured us that Zinna could provide us safe passage to him. Then Pince left us to go comfort his woman.
Weary, we nonetheless made our way to the docks for our late night interview. A guard on the gaudy boat did indeed recognize Zinna; although he made us leave our weapons outside, we were allowed into the cabin with little trouble, being in her company. There we met Cavendish, who seemed a man of some presence and power, although it was so gloomy in the cabin I am not sure I would recognize him in the daylight. We duly ran though our tale again and the thief-master seemed troubled and at a loss. He assessed rightly that the situation was confusing: we knew not who the villain was that had hired the Pillars - Ipiphan? Nackle Tarren? DuChamp? Rashemi? - nor who their intended target was - the Guild? Nackle Tarren? Grelsh itself? All we knew was there was trouble brewing. Cavendish's counsel was that we seek out Iris, some sort of local oracle, and investigate this further.
I fear we are in this up to our necks now, like a rakunmi caught in iyepe. We work for the caliph Nackle but now it seems also for the Guild, and we must keep these cross purposes untangled as we would the reins of a mount. I would rather go home and make baskets but I fear I need to serve Sinifere a bit more before returning to Tannit's bosom. I should be asleep already but felt a need to record this, though I know not who might be interested in the plight of a poor displaced jangwa mkuu.
I left off my last entry because I though that Pince and Sprig were approaching. I was incorrect; it was merely two of the sailors who occasionally cone to the Grass Pipe for evening drinks. Although we remained in the dining room all evening, the pair never showed up; we passed the night introducing Urik to orombo as he had never eaten lemons before. This spectacle was slightly more compelling that the prior experiment with oranges, but I am wondering how long this fruit theme will last.
Stuckey shrugged off his colleagues' missing their appointed arrival, saying that they were busy and had undoubtedly already become cognizant of us and would appear at their leisure; he frightened Zinna who for a moment thought they were invisible spirits who might materialize at any moment. It did not take overlong to calm her down. And so we went to our separate beds.
In the morning, Stuckey prepared us a hasty breakfast and then bade us depart; he was once again calling a closed house as he had errands to run. We each made our separate ways to spend the day. I shall relate our adventures as narrative here, although naturally I had no knowledge of my comrades' activities until we regrouped at night.
I went first to the town center to see about securing a small cottage for a workshop and domicile; I was turned away for reasons of my birthright: apparently homes and enterprises within the city are reserved for citizens - human citizens, if I understand correctly. It was a bit comforting to feel such prejudice leveled against me, as it confirmed in my heart the banal wretchedness of my existence: our pleasant life in the Grass Pipe was, it turned out, an anomaly after all. I feel that Nackle Tarren may find us foreigners useful, but Grelsh may not have much use for us at all.
At least the clerk was kind enough to direct me out of town to another inn, the White Widow, which he said had larger rooms. I found it a short walk south of town, at a crossroads that held a thriving market. The proprietress was a peaceful woman, who was willing to rent me a large space, suitable for both living and crafting, and expressed confidence that I could join the market as a seller. I reserved the rooms for a goodly time and told her I might bring her more residents. After this exchange, I made leisurely walk back toward the Grelsh market.
As I was so occupied, Zinna, prompted by the ever-suspicious Urik, had taken to following Stuckey as he left on his errands. She observed him head toward the dock and board a craft, a distinctive-looking yellow and black boat we had seen earlier called the Blessed Bee. He stayed a short while and emerged with two companions; the three stopped at a merchant for what appeared to be provisions and weapons and then trekked far north and east out of town. Zinna followed for as long as she was able, but they were making haste and she was unfamiliar with the territory and so lost them after some time. She made her way warily back to town for a dinner at the market.
While we were thus diversely busy, Rorick was burying himself in some arcane study, and Urik and AppleRabbit had taken to the woods to scar each other with lemon tattoos. When I saw the final artwork, each looked more like a depiction of a diseased eye or perhaps a misshapen egg, but I was too polite to mention this, and my opinion was not asked in any case.
We all met up again in the market at dinnertime, and conversed easily, sharing news of our activities and discoveries. Eventually, we noticed that the Grass Pipe seemed active again and returned "home" to find not Stuckey but a beautiful human woman behind the bar.
It turned out that this was the notable Sprig, running the inn while Stuckey was away. She was more than beautiful; she charmed everyone she met. Watching her work made us realize just what a callow boy Stuckey was. He ran the bar with puppyish enthusiasm; Sprig with grace and elan. It was the liveliest and most companionable evening we had spent at the inn. Towards the end of the evening, we met Pince - a strapping man obviously completely smitten with Sprig. Both of them seemed to know Zinna by reputation; it seems that if we are to make any headway joining the Stealers' Guild, it will be through our forgetful Sandey.
Eventually, Pince revealed to us why Stuckey was absent from the Inn: the young man was working his way up the ranks of the Guild, and he was on a mission with his two elder brothers to intercept one of two great logs sent downstream by the Wood Elves. To feed the constant construction in Grelsh, Nackle has a treaty with Ipiphan, the Woody leader, for routine deliveries of timber. The Guild occasionally re-routes one of the logs for their own disposal. The adventure usually takes only a day, and Pince and Sprig had begun to worry that something had gone amiss, since the runner, a fourth party serving as lookout and communicator, had not arrived.
Urik immediately volunteered to head upriver and search for the missing thieves; whether this offer sprang from a desire to make the Guild more fond of him, or out of genuine concern for Stuckey, or from some perverse desire for danger, I do not know. In any case, Sprig advised us to wait until morning, as there was likely just some technical delay and no cause for alarm at all. So we drank some more and then went to bed.
The next morning Sprig prepared us breakfast; the runner had still not arrived and her concern was growing greater, so my comrades and I immediately set off with her directions to try to find these errant timberjacks. We followed the coast to the mouth of the river, and then followed the river upstream, looking for a peculiar triad tree that Sprig had described. It was near this tree that the log would have been diverted from its course down to Grelsh. If there had been misadventure, it would have been near there. As it turned out, there had been misadventure of the worst kind.
Toward mid-afternoon, we did find the tree, and began to make our way closer to the riverbank to investigate. Most of us approached on guard and wary; Urik, for his part, began strolling toward the water as if on a walk through downtown Grelsh. From the cover of the brush, some of us saw a man impaled on a tree at the far edge of a small clearing, hanging some few feet off the ground; we took pains to be cautious and vigilant, for this alerted us to several figures hiding in cover on the other side of the clearing, and we feared ambush. This assessment proved grimly correct when Urik was fired upon from the far river bank. That arrow missed its target, but the battle was on.
Urik and Zinna were set upon by several hobgoblins in an open area near the river's edge, at the same time taking the archer's fire from across the river itself. For our part, AppleRabbit, Rorick, C'hallah, and I had but one foe; however, he was an enormous Bugbear with massive strength and murderous intent, and I feel we actually bore the brunt of the battle. I had readied a magic stone and managed a sure hit on the creature as he charged me; I was sure I dealt him as much damage as I had ever done in battle before, but it barely slowed him down, and with one swipe of his enormous club he nearly took all life from me.
The rest of the battle is a little hazy; I know Rorick conjured a magical dog from the aether and the poor animal was summarily crushed by the Bugbear. I felt AppleRabbit's magic restore my strength, only to see her go down a short time later, unconscious from wounds. Rorick and I continued to engage the massive creature until ultimately it fell - onto AppleRabbit, as our luck would have it.
Zinna and Urik seemed to have had better luck besting their foes - when I could check, two lay dead and one had fled into the river along with the archer, beyond pursuit. Urik used some of his cruel healing on AppleRabbit before I could help her in any gentler way. With the threat gone, we were able to take stock of the situation, and this was the grim inventory:
∆ The poor soul impaled upon the tree was our friend Stuckey. This escapade had clearly been the highest rung he would climb on crime's ladder.
∆ The creatures who had set upon us were, by their weapons, members of the Seven Pillars, the mercenary group. It appeared that they had interfered with the timberjacking and, apparently wanting to cause further mischief to the Stealers' Guild, had waited in ambush for any investigators or rescuers.
∆ There were clear tracks showing where the log had been diverted. Following them, we came upon a camp and found the bodies of Stuckey's companions - his brothers - both of whom had been killed where they lay.
∆ We found the log further along in a grassy clearing, and saw what we presumed was its eventual destination - a small structure which could easily house a makeshift timber-cutting operation. Upon investigation, we found two corpses within: one appeared to be the woodworker and the other a rogue, most likely the missing runner. The Pillars had been efficient as well as brutal.We completed our gruesome task mechanically, gathering all the bodies into the shed and investigating the scene as best we could. There was little to find except horror and a dinghy, which we used to navigate down the river back to Grelsh.
We made our weary way back the The Grass Pipe. We gave our sad news to Sprig, who was once again working the bar; she was overcome with grief and disappeared sobbing. Apparently her concern for the boy Stuckey went beyond simple affection. Pince joined us to hear our tale, holding his own sorrow in check long enough to tell us that we must meet Cavendish (the leader of the Guild?) to apprise him of this situation. Cavendish abode on the Blessed Bee and Pince assured us that Zinna could provide us safe passage to him. Then Pince left us to go comfort his woman.
Weary, we nonetheless made our way to the docks for our late night interview. A guard on the gaudy boat did indeed recognize Zinna; although he made us leave our weapons outside, we were allowed into the cabin with little trouble, being in her company. There we met Cavendish, who seemed a man of some presence and power, although it was so gloomy in the cabin I am not sure I would recognize him in the daylight. We duly ran though our tale again and the thief-master seemed troubled and at a loss. He assessed rightly that the situation was confusing: we knew not who the villain was that had hired the Pillars - Ipiphan? Nackle Tarren? DuChamp? Rashemi? - nor who their intended target was - the Guild? Nackle Tarren? Grelsh itself? All we knew was there was trouble brewing. Cavendish's counsel was that we seek out Iris, some sort of local oracle, and investigate this further.
I fear we are in this up to our necks now, like a rakunmi caught in iyepe. We work for the caliph Nackle but now it seems also for the Guild, and we must keep these cross purposes untangled as we would the reins of a mount. I would rather go home and make baskets but I fear I need to serve Sinifere a bit more before returning to Tannit's bosom. I should be asleep already but felt a need to record this, though I know not who might be interested in the plight of a poor displaced jangwa mkuu.
Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre
If this keeps up, I shall have to buy a larger journal.
Where to begin? When I left off, we had returned from the hinterlands to the Grass Pipe. (I am growing found of this place, although it feels odd to have slept so many nights in a row indoors.) Pasha gave us our wages, and I expected a quiet night.
I was, of course, wrong.
First, Zinna started in on the food. I was convinced she was trying to spend her entire reward in one sitting - she ordered everything friend Stuckey had on offer and tucked into it with enthusiasm and vigor, if not grace. She drew the attention of a new face at the Pipe - a short, stout fellow, Rorick by name, who joined us at our table. He turned out to be of the Dwarven Race; this came as a great surprise to Urik, who had to be disabused of the notions that his forebears had eliminated that people completely and that Rorick was a large and obese gnome.
The drinks flowed, Zinna ate, Urik talked about pain, and Applerabbit somehow got fixated on osans - apparently Urik has never seen an orange, and it became terribly important to the gnome that he understand the nature of the fruit. Rorick joined in all of this as if he had been our boon companion forever.
During this merrymaking, I appraised this newcomer. He seemed strong and hardy as well as smart, educated, and convivial. I thought he might make a useful contribution to our little band, were we to find any more employment from the Lady Pasha or even from Sharif Nackle himself. It seems lucky that we encountered him, so of course I fear it is too good to be true.
Nonetheless, I slept well and morning came much too soon.
The whole group breakfasted in the main hall, until interrupted once again by the imperious Lady Pasha. True to her word, she came to fetch us for an audience with the Nackle himself. As she surveyed us, she saw the newcomer Rorick and questioned him briefly but intensely, asking him at the close of her interrogation to join our group. She was muttering something again about our being strangers to the city - as if our joint and several identity as aliens, visitors, guests, tourists - whatever it is we are - somehow made us more valuable to her plans. She did also admit that we acquitted ourselves well on the last task, so I am sure that was part of her calculation as well. In any case, she hastened us out of the Pipe and off to city hall, Zinna stuffing her face and pockets till the last and Rorick bringing takeaway food (he was a late riser, presumably from effects of strong drink), but all of us trotting behind her as she strode along.
Pasha's rank and authority were clearly evident as we made our way to the Nackle: no one challenged her as we penetrated deeper and deeper into his - well, stronghold is the only word I can use. Guards stepped aside, doors opened, until at last we were ushered into the room of the great man himself.
I do not use the word great unadvisedly; there was a power rippling from Nackle; you could almost see it, like heat waves rising from the jangwa. He was clearly physically powerful - I do not think the five us could have left the room alive had he chosen that we did not. Years of experience in battle marked the way he moved, the way he carried himself, even the set of his eyes. But even more so than that, there was a force of will within the man that was almost unstoppable. Pasha had a manner that made people listen to her and follow where she walked; Nackle commanded respect, deference, and obedience by his very presence.
Our audience with him was fairly one-sided: he was like a prophet come down from the planes with an explanation of the way of the world, from the gods' mouths to his ear. He has a vision for this Grelsh - a singular commitment to building a future. As the jangwa has taught me, in the end, everything is built on sand... but this Nackle made me want to believe.
I took the opportunity to ask him a question about my own circumstance; he gave me much to think on, and I inch closer to a decision.
The particulars of his employment of us - for that was indeed why we were there - were far more jejune. He suspects the chief cleric of the town, one Releford, of some sort of chicanery or deceit - he was not specific - and wants proof of this. I suspect he has put us on this trail like jackals on a scent for plausible deniability. If four - five - foreign obtruders were to uncover evidence of wrongdoing in the church of Agravaras, Nackle could use it without the appearance of being on a personal hunt for the priest. As caliph, he would have no choice but to act on the information presented him.
Nackle offered us fifty times our wage for fighting the barbarians if we find such evidence. We get nothing if we do not, except a generous per diem until the job is finished (or Nackle tires of us). He also suggested we attempt to work with the local Stealer's Guild as a way to start; he suffers their enterprises as long as they do not interfere with his grand plan.
We returned to the Grass Pipe for luncheon, and Stuckey was as effusive as ever. Zinna had purchased all sorts of groceries on the way home, and bade Stuckey cook for her, which he did. Applerabbit, for her part, had obtained a crate of oranges, and I was included in the party to witness Urik's first taste of the fruit. It was an underwhelming experience for both him and me. In the course of the meal, we inquired of Stuckey whether he was part of the Guild; he forebore answer. When the meal was over, Stuckey told us it was to be a closed house while he ran errands, and that we needed to leave; he made sure we promised to come back and pass the evening with two notables, Pince and Sprig, over whom he made quite a fuss. We made for the streets to pass the afternoon.
As we strolled along the nearly deserted quay - so different from Feck, yet so reminiscent with its reed piers - to the west of some industrial neighborhood, I caught a look from Zinna that said she had seen what I had seen and what had gone unnoticed by our comrades: we were being followed by a shady-looking character. At my gesture, Zinna stole into the shadows, intending to ambush our ambusher; I sent C'hallah to caper up a nearby building to distract the lurker. My plan was for the stalwart Zinna to capture and detain this fellow, hoping to trade freedom and amnesty for contact with the Guild. I don't know why I continue to try; as usual, my plan turned to ashes.
Applerabbit turned a corner and almost immediately we heard the sounds of banditry: she was apparently being set upon. I saw Zinna heading east, around the other side of the building Apple was behind; Rorick and Urick were casting spells in preparation for joining the fray; I called C'hallah to guard the way and moved to engage.
The battle was by turns laughable and horrific. Rorick conjured a slippery oil under the feet of two attackers - and Applerabbit. Applerabbit fell down. Urik tore a man nearly in half with his sword and the enemy was short a combatant. Applerabbit could not get up. Apple's attacker missed a swing and cleaved his sword into the side of the building like a woodsman's axe. Applerabbit could not get up. Burik conjured a gout of flame and set all the combatants afire. All while, he was shouting "I don't want to hurt you!" Applerabbit finally stood up, raced to Rorick, and doused him with conjured water. Applerabbit's attacker ran away. Urik gave the remaining bandit quarter, which he took.
I was worried about Zinna,who had not joined the fight, and so raced to intercept her path, only to find her in her own combat - apparently with the ambusher, who had deviated from his projected path and met her away from our skirmish. Together, we dispatched him nicely.
Our interrogation of these louts - after we had secured them, stabilized their wounds, taken half their gold as reparations, and thrown their weapons into the sea - was short, successful, and unsatisfying. They were no members of the Stealer's Guild: hardly more than boys, they had pretensions to greatness - they called themselves Brothers of the Night Watch - but had yet to be granted admittance to the Guild. The leader spun some tale about a romance with Sprig - Stuckey's friend! - that had gone wrong and her enmity being the barrier to his ascendancy in the ranks of thieves. Applerabbit, of course, began going on about love, and apologies, and letters, and oranges, and I don't know what all else, since honestly I stopped listening after a while, but it was quite a gay affair for some time, there in the shadow of the warehouse, with the blood pooling in the dirt.
The important thing is that Pince and Sprig have some sort of gatekeeper roles in the Stealer's Guild, and perhaps, with Stuckey's endorsement, they are our way into that group and its intelligence. Our service to Nackle might actually have a chance of success.
So. here we are again, in the Grass Pipe, awaiting the evening's festivities. I think I hear someone at the door...
Where to begin? When I left off, we had returned from the hinterlands to the Grass Pipe. (I am growing found of this place, although it feels odd to have slept so many nights in a row indoors.) Pasha gave us our wages, and I expected a quiet night.
I was, of course, wrong.
First, Zinna started in on the food. I was convinced she was trying to spend her entire reward in one sitting - she ordered everything friend Stuckey had on offer and tucked into it with enthusiasm and vigor, if not grace. She drew the attention of a new face at the Pipe - a short, stout fellow, Rorick by name, who joined us at our table. He turned out to be of the Dwarven Race; this came as a great surprise to Urik, who had to be disabused of the notions that his forebears had eliminated that people completely and that Rorick was a large and obese gnome.
The drinks flowed, Zinna ate, Urik talked about pain, and Applerabbit somehow got fixated on osans - apparently Urik has never seen an orange, and it became terribly important to the gnome that he understand the nature of the fruit. Rorick joined in all of this as if he had been our boon companion forever.
During this merrymaking, I appraised this newcomer. He seemed strong and hardy as well as smart, educated, and convivial. I thought he might make a useful contribution to our little band, were we to find any more employment from the Lady Pasha or even from Sharif Nackle himself. It seems lucky that we encountered him, so of course I fear it is too good to be true.
Nonetheless, I slept well and morning came much too soon.
The whole group breakfasted in the main hall, until interrupted once again by the imperious Lady Pasha. True to her word, she came to fetch us for an audience with the Nackle himself. As she surveyed us, she saw the newcomer Rorick and questioned him briefly but intensely, asking him at the close of her interrogation to join our group. She was muttering something again about our being strangers to the city - as if our joint and several identity as aliens, visitors, guests, tourists - whatever it is we are - somehow made us more valuable to her plans. She did also admit that we acquitted ourselves well on the last task, so I am sure that was part of her calculation as well. In any case, she hastened us out of the Pipe and off to city hall, Zinna stuffing her face and pockets till the last and Rorick bringing takeaway food (he was a late riser, presumably from effects of strong drink), but all of us trotting behind her as she strode along.
Pasha's rank and authority were clearly evident as we made our way to the Nackle: no one challenged her as we penetrated deeper and deeper into his - well, stronghold is the only word I can use. Guards stepped aside, doors opened, until at last we were ushered into the room of the great man himself.
I do not use the word great unadvisedly; there was a power rippling from Nackle; you could almost see it, like heat waves rising from the jangwa. He was clearly physically powerful - I do not think the five us could have left the room alive had he chosen that we did not. Years of experience in battle marked the way he moved, the way he carried himself, even the set of his eyes. But even more so than that, there was a force of will within the man that was almost unstoppable. Pasha had a manner that made people listen to her and follow where she walked; Nackle commanded respect, deference, and obedience by his very presence.
Our audience with him was fairly one-sided: he was like a prophet come down from the planes with an explanation of the way of the world, from the gods' mouths to his ear. He has a vision for this Grelsh - a singular commitment to building a future. As the jangwa has taught me, in the end, everything is built on sand... but this Nackle made me want to believe.
I took the opportunity to ask him a question about my own circumstance; he gave me much to think on, and I inch closer to a decision.
The particulars of his employment of us - for that was indeed why we were there - were far more jejune. He suspects the chief cleric of the town, one Releford, of some sort of chicanery or deceit - he was not specific - and wants proof of this. I suspect he has put us on this trail like jackals on a scent for plausible deniability. If four - five - foreign obtruders were to uncover evidence of wrongdoing in the church of Agravaras, Nackle could use it without the appearance of being on a personal hunt for the priest. As caliph, he would have no choice but to act on the information presented him.
Nackle offered us fifty times our wage for fighting the barbarians if we find such evidence. We get nothing if we do not, except a generous per diem until the job is finished (or Nackle tires of us). He also suggested we attempt to work with the local Stealer's Guild as a way to start; he suffers their enterprises as long as they do not interfere with his grand plan.
We returned to the Grass Pipe for luncheon, and Stuckey was as effusive as ever. Zinna had purchased all sorts of groceries on the way home, and bade Stuckey cook for her, which he did. Applerabbit, for her part, had obtained a crate of oranges, and I was included in the party to witness Urik's first taste of the fruit. It was an underwhelming experience for both him and me. In the course of the meal, we inquired of Stuckey whether he was part of the Guild; he forebore answer. When the meal was over, Stuckey told us it was to be a closed house while he ran errands, and that we needed to leave; he made sure we promised to come back and pass the evening with two notables, Pince and Sprig, over whom he made quite a fuss. We made for the streets to pass the afternoon.
As we strolled along the nearly deserted quay - so different from Feck, yet so reminiscent with its reed piers - to the west of some industrial neighborhood, I caught a look from Zinna that said she had seen what I had seen and what had gone unnoticed by our comrades: we were being followed by a shady-looking character. At my gesture, Zinna stole into the shadows, intending to ambush our ambusher; I sent C'hallah to caper up a nearby building to distract the lurker. My plan was for the stalwart Zinna to capture and detain this fellow, hoping to trade freedom and amnesty for contact with the Guild. I don't know why I continue to try; as usual, my plan turned to ashes.
Applerabbit turned a corner and almost immediately we heard the sounds of banditry: she was apparently being set upon. I saw Zinna heading east, around the other side of the building Apple was behind; Rorick and Urick were casting spells in preparation for joining the fray; I called C'hallah to guard the way and moved to engage.
The battle was by turns laughable and horrific. Rorick conjured a slippery oil under the feet of two attackers - and Applerabbit. Applerabbit fell down. Urik tore a man nearly in half with his sword and the enemy was short a combatant. Applerabbit could not get up. Apple's attacker missed a swing and cleaved his sword into the side of the building like a woodsman's axe. Applerabbit could not get up. Burik conjured a gout of flame and set all the combatants afire. All while, he was shouting "I don't want to hurt you!" Applerabbit finally stood up, raced to Rorick, and doused him with conjured water. Applerabbit's attacker ran away. Urik gave the remaining bandit quarter, which he took.
I was worried about Zinna,who had not joined the fight, and so raced to intercept her path, only to find her in her own combat - apparently with the ambusher, who had deviated from his projected path and met her away from our skirmish. Together, we dispatched him nicely.
Our interrogation of these louts - after we had secured them, stabilized their wounds, taken half their gold as reparations, and thrown their weapons into the sea - was short, successful, and unsatisfying. They were no members of the Stealer's Guild: hardly more than boys, they had pretensions to greatness - they called themselves Brothers of the Night Watch - but had yet to be granted admittance to the Guild. The leader spun some tale about a romance with Sprig - Stuckey's friend! - that had gone wrong and her enmity being the barrier to his ascendancy in the ranks of thieves. Applerabbit, of course, began going on about love, and apologies, and letters, and oranges, and I don't know what all else, since honestly I stopped listening after a while, but it was quite a gay affair for some time, there in the shadow of the warehouse, with the blood pooling in the dirt.
The important thing is that Pince and Sprig have some sort of gatekeeper roles in the Stealer's Guild, and perhaps, with Stuckey's endorsement, they are our way into that group and its intelligence. Our service to Nackle might actually have a chance of success.
So. here we are again, in the Grass Pipe, awaiting the evening's festivities. I think I hear someone at the door...
Where there is no hope,
it is incumbent on us to invent it
Well, that was exciting.
I am back at the Grass Pipe again, but the hours that intervened between my last line and this have been filled with adventure and the promise of more to come.
I put up my writing because a striking - dare I say majestic? - human woman came into the dining room. She surveyed the lot of us - me, the Sandey and the other ugly horc, and the wee one - and peremptorily hired us! There didn't seem to be any discussion - she surveyed us, nodded briefly, and directed us to follow. Stuckey gave me a look to indicate that it might be a good idea to do so, so I did. The horcs came too, and the little thing, although somewhat reluctantly. It was so hard to resist this woman's force of personality.
It was also difficult to keep up with her, in any sense. She kept walking and talking, both at the same time, increasing the speed of each activity as we moved through the city and out into the countryside. (so different from Bandui! so many plants!) What I could gather was that we were being hired as mercenaries - to stop, or capture, or kill some raiders that for some convoluted reason the local authorities could not engage directly. I heard mention of the dread DCC and knew that the political backstory must be baroque, and there was something about destroyed crops. Our benefactor, Pasha by name, was well-connected to the leader of the city and was prosecuting this cause.
I was glad, of course, for the chance to be of service to the authorities. Before I can figure out what to do next, I need to find a secure position for myself in this strange society. I happily followed along.
After several hours of strenuous walking, we came to a large farmstead. We were fêted as honored guests, and we all got to eat our fill and then some. Children were playing, adults were drinking - it was all quite congenial. During the meal, I could take a better look at my comrades of circumstance.
The horc girl, Zinna by name, seemed a little dull, but good-hearted even for being an obvious member of the Stealer's Guild. She was tucking into her food so enthusiastically I even shared a bit of my precious asali with her, just to see her eyes light up at this food from home. Yes, she's a city Sandey, all right.
The other horc, Uric, was some kind of shaman or priest. He carried his scars and tattoos with more pride than any full-blooded orc I have seen - apparently they are his especial connection to the Powers. He was carrying on conversations about the glory of pain or some-such nonsense. No thank you, I thought, but he has such a presence that most of the humans were at least giving him a polite listen.
Applerabbit the Gnome was the last of our crew, and she is indeed One of a Circle. She talked of her protectorate as a swamp, which I gather is a landscape like a wadi after a rainstorm, only all the time. I'd like to see that. Anyway, Applerabbit spent a good deal of the meal playing with the children; she seems much like a child herself most of the time, but I can see flashes of a keen and ancient wisdom in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.
After the meal, we were bedded in a barn, with the expectation that the battle would come the next day. Applerabbit found some wine secreted in the loft and we shared another bottle as we passed the time before sleep. Zinna has indeed been a mercenary criminal; either she is reluctant to give many details of her life, or she honestly doesn't remember much, but from the stories she did tell us I would not take her apparent dullness as a lack of resolve or ferocity in conflict. Urik, on the other hand, was downright generous in his conversation, regaling us with his perspectives on struggle and pain. Applerabbit was... confusing. Even when we conversed in the Tongue, I am not sure I understood her.
At one point in the middle of the night, the gnome noticed some activity on the borders of the farmstead. She and Zinna went to investigate stealthily, and when they returned, this is the story they told:
Three human barbarians entered the farm warily from the north. Two males stood guard as a female engaged in some kind of ritual, which seemed to be directed at expanding the circle of destroyed crops. The guardians were focused but acute, and after a time the horc and gnome had to withdraw for fear of being detected.
We reported this news immediately to Pasha and developed a plan for the next day, which she approved.
After sufficient sleep, we scouted the area closely. It was clear the barbarians had entered the farm each night, penetrating further and further, and increasing the ring of desiccated crops each time. It was easy to predict where they would venture next, so predictable - arrogant? - were their sequential incursions. We selected spots for ambush.
The evening meal before our deployment was less joyful than the first; a sense of grim purpose hung over the entire farm.
We stationed ourselves: Urik and I in a hasty blind in the woods, Zinna and Applerabbit secreted in the corn rows. I left C'hallah to play in the crops closer to the house, hoping to divert the attention of the guardians. The ambush would be sprung when they began to close on him.
Our wait was long and dull, like most of my days in the desert. My days anywhere, for that matter.
Eventually, the barbarians arrived. We waited for the priestess - witch, Pasha had called her - to begun her ritual, during which she seemed unaware if her surroundings. I could see and hear C'hallah moving in the fields, and apparently so could the witch's guardians, but they did not take the bait, remaining at their posts and simply noting his presence. Our plan had failed.
Determined to succeed at this mission, I had knocked an arrow and was about to let loose when before I could act I saw Zinna burst from the wall of corn and engage one of the barbarians with a thrown dagger. Her ferocity was everything I expected; I called C'hallah to the attack and the battle was joined.
It took the combined efforts of all of us to take on these foes - they were fiercer even than any full-blooded Sandey I have fought in the jangwa, asking no quarter and giving no ground. It all became harum-scarum very quickly, like when a sudden sirocco hits a caravan before the camels are tied.
I saw Urik close on the witch and restrain her in massive arms to disconcert the warriors. He struggled mightily against her magic and their attacks until he went down; only a spell from Applerabbit brought him back to the fight and he was formidable even from the ground, his terrifying magic seeming to weaken our enemies.
Zinna moved like a dancer through the melee, picking her positions and placing her sword blows with a surprising precision given her dimness of thought; someone had trained that young woman well, to our great benefit.
Applerabbit moved like a hare among hounds, casting spells to confound our foes and aid our combat or slinging stones into the skirmish.
For my part, I began with a ranged assault to some good effect, but when C'hallah was felled by a barbarian's blow, I could not help myself and raced into the fracas with sickle high. Zayn would have been proud - he was always frustrated when I said the sickle was a stupid weapon, but it proved effective in this case.
After what seemed a season but was surely short minutes, we prevailed. One warrior was beyond help, and the Urik gave the other quietus. We bound the unconscious witch for interrogation and sent Zinna to fetch Pasha.
Upon her arrival, Pasha informed us that the witch was not to be questioned, but executed. Shrugging, Urik dealt the blow. Zinna was unfazed, and for my part, we had been told at the onset of the mission that it was imperative that none of our enemies survive, so it all seemed proper: these were incursionists, after all. Applerabbit, however, seemed upset that this turn of events. Her response became exacerbated when she realized that one of the young children of the farm had witnessed the dispatching and become agitated and unfriendly. (I thought a farmboy, like a shepherd, would be more inured to the killing of vermin and predators, but this land is still strange to me.)
I found the invader's camp and we were satisfied that we had killed the lot. I used some majik to strengthen C'hallah - noble C'hallah! - as we cleaned up the battle site, confident that no more crops would be destroyed. We spent the day journeying back to town, whereupon Pasha granted us each our pay - ten gold! - and told us to prepare for an audience with Nackle himself, the king or mayor or caliph (whatever he is called) of this town. Perhaps things are looking up.
One last note: as things turned out, I have found myself in possession of the witch's dagger. It would fetch many gold pieces in the market for its craftwork alone, but better, it is of cold iron.
I think I'll keep it.
I am back at the Grass Pipe again, but the hours that intervened between my last line and this have been filled with adventure and the promise of more to come.
I put up my writing because a striking - dare I say majestic? - human woman came into the dining room. She surveyed the lot of us - me, the Sandey and the other ugly horc, and the wee one - and peremptorily hired us! There didn't seem to be any discussion - she surveyed us, nodded briefly, and directed us to follow. Stuckey gave me a look to indicate that it might be a good idea to do so, so I did. The horcs came too, and the little thing, although somewhat reluctantly. It was so hard to resist this woman's force of personality.
It was also difficult to keep up with her, in any sense. She kept walking and talking, both at the same time, increasing the speed of each activity as we moved through the city and out into the countryside. (so different from Bandui! so many plants!) What I could gather was that we were being hired as mercenaries - to stop, or capture, or kill some raiders that for some convoluted reason the local authorities could not engage directly. I heard mention of the dread DCC and knew that the political backstory must be baroque, and there was something about destroyed crops. Our benefactor, Pasha by name, was well-connected to the leader of the city and was prosecuting this cause.
I was glad, of course, for the chance to be of service to the authorities. Before I can figure out what to do next, I need to find a secure position for myself in this strange society. I happily followed along.
After several hours of strenuous walking, we came to a large farmstead. We were fêted as honored guests, and we all got to eat our fill and then some. Children were playing, adults were drinking - it was all quite congenial. During the meal, I could take a better look at my comrades of circumstance.
The horc girl, Zinna by name, seemed a little dull, but good-hearted even for being an obvious member of the Stealer's Guild. She was tucking into her food so enthusiastically I even shared a bit of my precious asali with her, just to see her eyes light up at this food from home. Yes, she's a city Sandey, all right.
The other horc, Uric, was some kind of shaman or priest. He carried his scars and tattoos with more pride than any full-blooded orc I have seen - apparently they are his especial connection to the Powers. He was carrying on conversations about the glory of pain or some-such nonsense. No thank you, I thought, but he has such a presence that most of the humans were at least giving him a polite listen.
Applerabbit the Gnome was the last of our crew, and she is indeed One of a Circle. She talked of her protectorate as a swamp, which I gather is a landscape like a wadi after a rainstorm, only all the time. I'd like to see that. Anyway, Applerabbit spent a good deal of the meal playing with the children; she seems much like a child herself most of the time, but I can see flashes of a keen and ancient wisdom in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.
After the meal, we were bedded in a barn, with the expectation that the battle would come the next day. Applerabbit found some wine secreted in the loft and we shared another bottle as we passed the time before sleep. Zinna has indeed been a mercenary criminal; either she is reluctant to give many details of her life, or she honestly doesn't remember much, but from the stories she did tell us I would not take her apparent dullness as a lack of resolve or ferocity in conflict. Urik, on the other hand, was downright generous in his conversation, regaling us with his perspectives on struggle and pain. Applerabbit was... confusing. Even when we conversed in the Tongue, I am not sure I understood her.
At one point in the middle of the night, the gnome noticed some activity on the borders of the farmstead. She and Zinna went to investigate stealthily, and when they returned, this is the story they told:
Three human barbarians entered the farm warily from the north. Two males stood guard as a female engaged in some kind of ritual, which seemed to be directed at expanding the circle of destroyed crops. The guardians were focused but acute, and after a time the horc and gnome had to withdraw for fear of being detected.
We reported this news immediately to Pasha and developed a plan for the next day, which she approved.
After sufficient sleep, we scouted the area closely. It was clear the barbarians had entered the farm each night, penetrating further and further, and increasing the ring of desiccated crops each time. It was easy to predict where they would venture next, so predictable - arrogant? - were their sequential incursions. We selected spots for ambush.
The evening meal before our deployment was less joyful than the first; a sense of grim purpose hung over the entire farm.
We stationed ourselves: Urik and I in a hasty blind in the woods, Zinna and Applerabbit secreted in the corn rows. I left C'hallah to play in the crops closer to the house, hoping to divert the attention of the guardians. The ambush would be sprung when they began to close on him.
Our wait was long and dull, like most of my days in the desert. My days anywhere, for that matter.
Eventually, the barbarians arrived. We waited for the priestess - witch, Pasha had called her - to begun her ritual, during which she seemed unaware if her surroundings. I could see and hear C'hallah moving in the fields, and apparently so could the witch's guardians, but they did not take the bait, remaining at their posts and simply noting his presence. Our plan had failed.
Determined to succeed at this mission, I had knocked an arrow and was about to let loose when before I could act I saw Zinna burst from the wall of corn and engage one of the barbarians with a thrown dagger. Her ferocity was everything I expected; I called C'hallah to the attack and the battle was joined.
It took the combined efforts of all of us to take on these foes - they were fiercer even than any full-blooded Sandey I have fought in the jangwa, asking no quarter and giving no ground. It all became harum-scarum very quickly, like when a sudden sirocco hits a caravan before the camels are tied.
I saw Urik close on the witch and restrain her in massive arms to disconcert the warriors. He struggled mightily against her magic and their attacks until he went down; only a spell from Applerabbit brought him back to the fight and he was formidable even from the ground, his terrifying magic seeming to weaken our enemies.
Zinna moved like a dancer through the melee, picking her positions and placing her sword blows with a surprising precision given her dimness of thought; someone had trained that young woman well, to our great benefit.
Applerabbit moved like a hare among hounds, casting spells to confound our foes and aid our combat or slinging stones into the skirmish.
For my part, I began with a ranged assault to some good effect, but when C'hallah was felled by a barbarian's blow, I could not help myself and raced into the fracas with sickle high. Zayn would have been proud - he was always frustrated when I said the sickle was a stupid weapon, but it proved effective in this case.
After what seemed a season but was surely short minutes, we prevailed. One warrior was beyond help, and the Urik gave the other quietus. We bound the unconscious witch for interrogation and sent Zinna to fetch Pasha.
Upon her arrival, Pasha informed us that the witch was not to be questioned, but executed. Shrugging, Urik dealt the blow. Zinna was unfazed, and for my part, we had been told at the onset of the mission that it was imperative that none of our enemies survive, so it all seemed proper: these were incursionists, after all. Applerabbit, however, seemed upset that this turn of events. Her response became exacerbated when she realized that one of the young children of the farm had witnessed the dispatching and become agitated and unfriendly. (I thought a farmboy, like a shepherd, would be more inured to the killing of vermin and predators, but this land is still strange to me.)
I found the invader's camp and we were satisfied that we had killed the lot. I used some majik to strengthen C'hallah - noble C'hallah! - as we cleaned up the battle site, confident that no more crops would be destroyed. We spent the day journeying back to town, whereupon Pasha granted us each our pay - ten gold! - and told us to prepare for an audience with Nackle himself, the king or mayor or caliph (whatever he is called) of this town. Perhaps things are looking up.
One last note: as things turned out, I have found myself in possession of the witch's dagger. It would fetch many gold pieces in the market for its craftwork alone, but better, it is of cold iron.
I think I'll keep it.
Saying this city's name hurts my mouth
Grelsh. It doesn't sound right, the luh and shh mushed together like that. But perhaps I should be concerned with more important things. I sit here in the Grass Pipe Inn on the waterfront in Grelsh. It is summer, but much cooler than home. I am hungry, but I am husbanding some silver yet, so the hyena is not quite at the door - although I can hear him barking. But it is important to record why I am here.
What is it, a month ago now? The circle - Mi'sid, Zayn, and 'Aziz, all of them agreeing for a change - charged me with an unusual task. They gave me scroll case and told me to take it to the chief cleric of the temple of Coros in Feck. They told me it was a mission of utmost importance, handed me a parchment with some directions, and pressed some gold into my hand, all the while wishing me luck and chanting prayers of goodwill.
Anything to be gone from the circle! The journey to Feck and back could eat up weeks - perhaps scores of days away, on my own (well, with C'hallah, of course). And there had been recent reports of zombie activity to the north, so I wasted no time gathering my travel belongings and hiking to the caravansary to join an eastbound train.
I secured passage for a reduced rate in exchange for some minimal guide duties, pointing out quicksand and fech-fech and like hazards. We travelled swiftly, and soon the great city of Feck lay before us.
I had seen Feck only once before, as a youth, and thought that my memories of its vastness had been exaggerated by a child's imagination, but it was, if anything, even bigger than I had thought. I was overwhelmed by more sounds and sights and smells than I encounter in a month in the jangwa.
I tried to complete my task, I really did. I took out the parchment, and read the directions, and tried to follow the signs, but the city is just so big, and there are so many streets, and it's just so crowded, and the man I stopped to ask for help got very angry that I didn't know what I was talking about and he started yelling and C'hallah got upset and the melon cart fell over and then everybody started talking all at once and some soldiers came up who did not look happy and I may be a poor druid from the jangwa but I know enough about Feck to realize it was time to leave. So I ran.
SO HERE IS WHERE I WANT TO STATE FOR THE RECORD THAT NONE OF THIS WAS MY FAULT. I TRIED.
Anyway, they chased me for a while, but I somehow managed to dodge them by sneaking with C'Hallah onto a docked ship that was being loaded. (A large crate of geese had broken open and all was chaos.) I stayed hidden for a very long time... so long, in fact, that when I ventured a peek from a porthole, we were at open sea! I had no choice but to remain hidden; I feared being returned to the authorities.
I was discovered a few days into the voyage by a low-ranking seaman, a half-orc laborer. For a few silver, he was willing to keep my secret and provide me with sustenance. I think he liked being in the catbird seat with a Sunner.
In any case, I managed to debark at G-rel-sh without further incident, and found lodgings at this inn. The landscape here is very strange - many colors, many varieties of plants and trees, strange birds and animals - C'hallah gets some very odd looks so I am sure he is a rare thing here - and lots of people. This city is not as large as great Feck, but it seems to have twice the energy.
There are mostly humans in this city, and the one Elf I have seen was one of the Wild Cousins, looking a bit the worse for wear as he was led away, drunk on who knows what, by some guards. But the innkeep here, one Stuckey, is a friendly sort and tolerates both me and C'hallah easily, as well as some other obvious foreigners, among his human guests.
There are a couple of half-orcs here, and I think one is a Sandey. They're each as ugly as a camel's ass. And there's some halfling or gnome or something who keeps looking at me from across the dining room... and I think I heard her muttering in Druidic.
I must pause.
What is it, a month ago now? The circle - Mi'sid, Zayn, and 'Aziz, all of them agreeing for a change - charged me with an unusual task. They gave me scroll case and told me to take it to the chief cleric of the temple of Coros in Feck. They told me it was a mission of utmost importance, handed me a parchment with some directions, and pressed some gold into my hand, all the while wishing me luck and chanting prayers of goodwill.
Anything to be gone from the circle! The journey to Feck and back could eat up weeks - perhaps scores of days away, on my own (well, with C'hallah, of course). And there had been recent reports of zombie activity to the north, so I wasted no time gathering my travel belongings and hiking to the caravansary to join an eastbound train.
I secured passage for a reduced rate in exchange for some minimal guide duties, pointing out quicksand and fech-fech and like hazards. We travelled swiftly, and soon the great city of Feck lay before us.
I had seen Feck only once before, as a youth, and thought that my memories of its vastness had been exaggerated by a child's imagination, but it was, if anything, even bigger than I had thought. I was overwhelmed by more sounds and sights and smells than I encounter in a month in the jangwa.
I tried to complete my task, I really did. I took out the parchment, and read the directions, and tried to follow the signs, but the city is just so big, and there are so many streets, and it's just so crowded, and the man I stopped to ask for help got very angry that I didn't know what I was talking about and he started yelling and C'hallah got upset and the melon cart fell over and then everybody started talking all at once and some soldiers came up who did not look happy and I may be a poor druid from the jangwa but I know enough about Feck to realize it was time to leave. So I ran.
SO HERE IS WHERE I WANT TO STATE FOR THE RECORD THAT NONE OF THIS WAS MY FAULT. I TRIED.
Anyway, they chased me for a while, but I somehow managed to dodge them by sneaking with C'Hallah onto a docked ship that was being loaded. (A large crate of geese had broken open and all was chaos.) I stayed hidden for a very long time... so long, in fact, that when I ventured a peek from a porthole, we were at open sea! I had no choice but to remain hidden; I feared being returned to the authorities.
I was discovered a few days into the voyage by a low-ranking seaman, a half-orc laborer. For a few silver, he was willing to keep my secret and provide me with sustenance. I think he liked being in the catbird seat with a Sunner.
In any case, I managed to debark at G-rel-sh without further incident, and found lodgings at this inn. The landscape here is very strange - many colors, many varieties of plants and trees, strange birds and animals - C'hallah gets some very odd looks so I am sure he is a rare thing here - and lots of people. This city is not as large as great Feck, but it seems to have twice the energy.
There are mostly humans in this city, and the one Elf I have seen was one of the Wild Cousins, looking a bit the worse for wear as he was led away, drunk on who knows what, by some guards. But the innkeep here, one Stuckey, is a friendly sort and tolerates both me and C'hallah easily, as well as some other obvious foreigners, among his human guests.
There are a couple of half-orcs here, and I think one is a Sandey. They're each as ugly as a camel's ass. And there's some halfling or gnome or something who keeps looking at me from across the dining room... and I think I heard her muttering in Druidic.
I must pause.
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