(explanation will follow)
Journal of Unferth Herbeald during the early part of the 2nd Ten day of Eleasis
"Diaspora"
Returning from a failed attempt into tracking down the whereabouts of an underground slavery ring our group returned to Ashabbenford. Our curious guide, the master elf Ardin was slain a few moons prior, and we carried him back into town. I believe that Delano, and Schelen, despite their misgivings towards the skilled scout, believed that his heart is in the right place, and wanted to see if the skilled healing hands of the Tryian clerics could (or would be willing to) bring his soul back to his body.
The loss of another companion was rough on me. I often ponder the damage done by seeing those fall in their struggle to do what is right, and fight for it. However truly this is this the inherent tension and mystery around all great stories; from which all that is hidden is revealed and even the most nebulous motives understood. I digress.
Once our group had nearly lost the arcane prowess of Mantethil. It was quite an effort getting him to have his soul returned to his earthly shell, and not cheap either. It took a good deal of wheeling and dealing to get a diamond of enough worth to perform the ceremony, in the small town of Dolmach. However the elf was not without friends in the woods beyond the mountains near Ashabbenford. We met with a few "protectors" of the woods there, elven comrades of Ardin, who were greatly saddened to see the fall of a skilled one of their kin.
I place "protectors" in quotations because my compatriot Schelen was most disturbed with the behavior and demeanor of the elves we met. I smiled as he and a few of the aforementioned elves exchanged ... pleasantries shall we say, about who truly belonged to the wood, and was really looking out for its health. Though since I have been traveling with master druid Schelen, I have been more keen to listen to his wisdom, their gift of a small diamond ended being ever so helpful in restoring Ardin.
I hung onto the pricey bauble, in both hope and admiration. I retired for a little from the road at the tavern with Mantethil, Orrud, and the taciturn Camila. While I sipped on a glass of the stale ale from the day's tap, I heard the deep growling and grumblings of master dwarf Orrud. Apparently the person he was out to seek vengeance against had surfaced nearby. He, as far as I could recollect, was wandering the land looking for a common nemesis, a dwarf named Rolf. The hinting of darker things have admittedly caused me to place aside my vendetta against Rolf, to really get after the real string of darker deeds, the names of which I will not place here for fear it may fall into the wrong hands.
Though this is not to say that Orrud is in someway misplacing his wrath. I have read many a great epic tale of the stout people of the mountain. Their allegiance to their clan, is unwavering as the mountains they live under. No doubt those dark crevasses and dangerous creatures of the land under do not allow much room for shifting allegiance and loyalties, it must be a matter of survival not just passing preference. Seeing the drive in Orrud's eyes certainly has instilled in me a reminder to be trustworthy to those you trust with your life.
Or course the peculiar halfling Camilla, admittedly the brighter of the pair went with Orrud, as they have been traveling together since our group met up with them. With not much more than a brief farewell to Orrud and a reverent bow to Camilla (which is indeed hard for one who stands a little above your waist to register as a bow) left onto the road and towards their destination. I know Orrud had planned to use a mount, though now thinking twice about it I hope he can ride a horse. Even if he does, it must be a peculiar site, a Dwarf on a horse with a halfing pacing beside, keeping speed with the mount.
After the hurried exit, Mantethil and I recognized two people we once beheld back in Peldan's Helm, two guardsmen who were watchers of the gate there, Sebastian, and his half-giant freind. Apparently there has been some stirrings of war in the Kingdom of Cormyr. Sebastian had traveled some days here to see if he could aquired some of the riders in Ashabba. I directed him to the trusted leader of the guard Marcus. Shortly thereafter Delano and Schelen came back with news on the hope for Ardin. Apparently the clerics of Try saw it fit to wake Ardin from the throws of the great sleep we all must face sooner or later. Delano advised me to bring them the diamond, though I knew the diamond to be not large enough to make the required amount of dust for the ritual any thing we could do to get the ball rolling would be well done indeed.
I received good news from the clerics there, they said that the ritual could be performed, but that our group would be in debt. I began to reach for my sack to see what valuables we had that might help, when the cleric gave me the same stern look that I have oft seen from Delano. I blushed. Those of Tyr speak of debts not in monetary value, but of debts in virtue and service to Tyr. The "payment" they requested was to track, find, and return an acquaintance of Mantethil and myself. He was another initiate into the false temple Mystra, along with myself, Mantethil, and Bronstar the local wheelwright, a certain Thendrik.
Thendrik when I last saw him made a hasty escape from what turned out to be a temple of Shar. Knowing from what I could tell from the panic in his eyes, he was a desparate man, who was escaping more than the torments of Shar. It was not until the cleric's briefing I understood fully that Thendrik was also in "debt" to Tyr. Unfortunately he could not claim poverty and slip away, Tyr demanded his service, much as they now demanded mine. It has been nearly seven days since we last seen Thendrik and my heart filled with desperation for the hope of restoring Ardin. Schelen though ever confident in his prowess in the outdoors thought there was a chance we could find him.
Before turning in for the day though there was a considerable amount of coin retrieved from a slaver way point our group had raided a few days back. Our whole group wanted to give some of the money towards getting Bronstar and his wheelwright shop back on its feet. Two houses were burned little over a ten-day ago by despicable Drow attacks on the town. Though most of the strength of the Drow in the area had been dispatched by our group, the scar they left on the town still remained. What better way to invest the money than to try and heal the scars? So we visited the construction that had started presumably with our original investment of 65 coin. We managed to give the wheelwright's cause another 100 coin, though the surprisingly generous Mantethil wanted to give more.
After counting money and wishing Bronstar the best, I had a moment. Like frozen in time, I saw the sweat of the workers beading on their brow. The air was full of the aroma of freshly planed lumber, and thick with the light of hope. The sequence was something I had recognized in a story, a poem that spoke of the deeds in the Year of the Gem Dragons, when Illusk was largely rebuilt and construction began on its defensive walls. Soon trade from the mines of Mirabar would bring great prosperity to both Illusk and Stornanter nearby. I could see how the efforts to rebuild brought joy to more than those who were hurt, and the scars were forgotten with the jubilation of a new hope. The story and the reality were the same, and I asked Bronstar if I could tell that story to the construction crew. My speech was impeccable, and powerful, I could see the smiles on men faces and there able hands working together, like in the vast imaginations of the story of Illusk. This moment stuck with me.
After bidding adeiu to Bronstar our group seemed to be back on the road like we had barely stopped, off to the area North of the defunct Shar Temple, to pick up the trail of the fugitive Thendrik.
Like the ale I was sipping was never there I found myself not reciting stories, rather being part of them, weaving them like an old woman at a loom. I have often thought about and pondered this paradox. I tell stories all the time, to inspire, to encourage, and entertain others. Yet my life seems to inexorably pull me toward what the divine Lord Oghma would call "being the story you tell." Like when I recited poetry to the construction crew, I saw the connection. I think I am beginning to understand this mystery, my poetry and my life are linked. They in some way pull and strain from the same thread of fate. I am hoping to use this idea as a greater ethos in my poetry, perhaps some more inspiration and favor can be pulled from them. Perhaps my words can be as potent as Delano's sword, its a tall order, but I always enjoy a challenge.
Days Later
"Discovery and Treachery"
During our search, the four of us had all decided after Schelen ardently looked for a trail that the only place Thendrik could go was north to Shadowdale. He was a farmer, not the adventuring type, and was most likely desperately searching for a friendly home stead somewhere north where there were more farms, since to the south was Ashabbenford where he was more or less a wanted man. The first evening after our search north the keen eyes of Schelen had spotted the flicker of a campfire.
I volunteered to climb a tree to get a better look. I swear now a days the trees are getting harder and harder to climb, must be an old growth forest with more dead limbs, but never the less after some struggle I did top a tree to see that not but nearly an hour away was a campfire. We decided to find out who could be on the road to Shadowdale with us. With any luck we'd find out man.
Luck was with us. After a few somewhat slick moves, Mantithel revealed that a cloaked man sitting near a fire with two merchants was Thendrik. After our regular mix of Delano's near threats, and me trying to smooth out the rough edges of Delano's sermon's about order and law we convince Thendrik to not flee and freely come with us. He seemed to change his mind when I simply asked him, "How do you want to return to Ashabbenford, tied and bent over the back of Delano's mount like a crook, or with your chin held high, knowing you helped our group with a few good words from one of Tyr's blessed ones, the holy knight Master Delano?" I asked him this because it seemed that Thendrik could help us out in a request that came from the merchants.
Apparently the merchants, two well dressed men, one a Chondathan man and a curious gnome. (sorry for the redundancy) Indeed they were what appeared to be merchants with no stock. They weaved a tale that on a nearby barrow, they stored their goods for safety. Unfortunately the barrow they used as a way point still was inhabited, and not by anything living.
Delano used the gifts of his god to determine that the merchants were not dark of heart, and with that information and some reluctance on suspicion of trickery we decided to make it to the nearby barrow to help the merchants. One way or another I think Delano wanted to rid the area of any creatures of death, and could not in good conscious ignore the request to help the merchants. Though I was highly suspicious of the two seemingly inseparable merchants. In the pit of my stomach I knew they knew something I didn't know, something I'd want to know too. I put aside my lust for knowledge and like I have more often recently thought I'd search after the story, not the authors. So we left the next morning, Thendrik begrudgingly in tow.
We entered the barrow which had ancient writing over the archway, quite beautiful craftsmanship I might add. In a few seconds the merchants were digging away at the wall to retrieve their goods. Suddenly arrows from a carved face embossed in a wall flew at us.
Many things happened during that fight, which I will touch upon shortly, but for me something remarkable happened. In the instant that battle started, and I knew danger was upon us, rather than drawing my trusty rapier I spoke some powerful words, some of the most convincing and clutching moments from a classic epic tale from the 3rd century, lines about the last stand of Ironstar upon the great Stone Bridge. My words, though invisible, I could see, as a performer who watches the faces of an expectant audience, were strengthening my comrades. As they stood next to one another the words themselves seemed to stand in defiance to the deadly arrows pointed against us. I am not sure if they noticed, but I did, I felt my very words and my meditation upon the stories I have studied for some time leave me and rest upon the shoulders of my allies, the essence of the stories still whispering inspiration to them.
I was a bit thrown off by this but after this eternity that I just described, the heat of battle roused me. The gnome was no where to be seen and the Chondathan fellow was still scrounging for his things. Delano trusty as ever ran towards the thick of the missiles. I found myself peering round the corner of a dark corridor, when once again Delano's presence was felt again. He stopped for a moment to look at me. He was trying to remind me to look after Thendrik and the other merchant. I glanced back and I saw that the only trustworthy ally next to them was Schelen's friendly companion, the badger. I rushed back, and tried to help the merchant get his stock out.
The fiend then stabbed me when I wasn't looking, and he incurred the thirst of my rapier. I stepped to his side to as not to get the badger to involved, though his incessant gnawing and clawing at the back of his heels certainly did disrupt him. Thendrik was aghast as what was going on, and I in a sudden commanding role told him to earn his right to gain a good word to the temple of Tyr by attacking the backstabbing merchant. Thendrik of course had little else but a stick, which he threw at the merchant just enough to allow me to give him a few "pokes" with my blade, and he was back on the ground, where worms like him belong. The ground is also where angry badgers like to add a few angry scratches in retort to attack against their friends. I like that badger.
Seems like while I was looking after Thendrik and trying to tend to my wounds, Schelen and Mantethil had dispatched of the gnome, who apparently had cloaked himself. It was no match though for the full prowess of our inspired spell casters to rain fire upon his wretched brow. All I heard was the gnome wail in agony, and some seconds later I could hear Delano fighting with something. I would love to describe it, however he was enveloped in fog and I could not see much more than the warm glow of Delano's light imbued torch. The apparition fled or was destroyed, I can't say I'd like to stay long enough to find out. So we left, after taking all the belongings that the "merchants" had bamboozled haggard travelers out of.
We are on our way back from the barrow on horseback, while I write this, Wealthow is a nice horse and knows I like a steady ride to read and write from. I'll make sure to get her a carrot tomorrow.
A quick and interesting note about what we recovered from the criminals. They had some nice magical baubles it would seem at first glance which Mantethil is trying to discern, and a chest of jewelry that upon first estimate is worth roughly 1000 coin. I guess if the temple of Tyr doesn't want a donation, thats alright by me.
Unferth Herebeald, study of the story and weaver of tales great and small
Explanation - This is an "in character" account of things happening in my D&D campaign run my friend Luke. Justin is Delano, Seth is Schelen, Scot is Mantithel, Jim who was absent last session is Ardin, Matt and Rachel were also absent and play Orrud and Camila respectively.
For those who understand the game, this was the first day I got to be a new prestige class designed by Luke Norton, called Study of the Norns. When I fought that merchant guy too, I crit him twice in a roll while the badger flanked.
