Moonday, Erastus 7th

When I stepped into that room I knew that something was not right.

The battle with the Scribbler and his hounds and demons left me somewhat unnerved. It’s one of the few times that the party was not able to take the advantage, and we fought on the defensive at the mercy of his spells. Though he was no tactical genius, he was resourceful and he was prepared and it was enough to keep us off balance. Most importantly, it was enough to keep him alive. Once again one of our foes was able to vanish into thin air just when the tide was starting to turn.

My frustration with this encounter is why I chose, uncharacteristically, to take up the rear guard as we advanced through the fog. I don’t know why I did not trust my judgement, I just know that I did not. As it turned out this may have been the wisest decision I have made.

Sabin, Takkad, Rigel, and Rararallo all entered the hallway and that is when the confusion began. I still do not know the precise sequence of events, but within seconds spells were fired off and a wall of stone created to block our passage. Before I could move up to see what had happened, Rigel tore through the room and into the fog, running for her life. Running from us! And then Rararallo appeared, showing the same terror, the same wild look of someone who was consumed by paranoia and fear.

It was Kane that figured out that an enchantment was responsible, one that convinced those who entered that the evil Lamashtu had corrupted their friends. It was a subtle, clever suggestion. I am told that one so enchanted cannot be made to act against his or her nature, but twisting our own perceptions of reality would sidestep that limitation. Very clever, and very effective.

But not foolproof. Takkad, fearing the evil that he believed had taken over his friends, did what he would logically do in any such situation: he cast a spell of protection, and a side effect of this spell was to break the enchantment that was influencing him. Through the thin stone wall, which he had created for his own safety, we heard him exclaim a few choice words as the realization of what had happened came over him. Kane took my sword, for I did not trust myself to enter that hallway, and broke down the wall so that we could be reunited.

Takkad’s spell would eventually free Rigel and Sabin, at least temporarily, and so we retreated to the temple in Sandpoint to regroup and permanently dispel the charms that had afflicted us. Rararallo, however, was so shaken by these events that he has lost his nerve for adventuring. It is a shame, for in the short time that we have known him he has been a valuable companion, but I understand his decision. This is a very dangerous thing we are doing. His reaction is, I think, normal (which, disturbingly, suggests that ours is not).

Toilday, Erastus 8th

The Scribbler is dead. As I write this, my companions are searching the room at the end of the hallway and trying to make sense of the magical items and protections that are in place. Every now and then, one or two look my way give me “that look”. At least once I overheard talk about the Scribbler’s damaged falchion and what could be done to repair it. I know that some are upset about the destruction of a valuable magic item—an item that could have been sold for money—but I don’t care. I had long since lost patience with the Scribbler and with this place, and when I found myself face to face with him and feeling the business end of that weapon I deliberately smashed it to pieces. And it felt good.

If they want to try and fix it, fine. But I am not apologizing for my actions.

Sunday, Erastus 6

We slew Longtooth in a brief but fierce battle. Our intent was to meet the terms of our agreement, but to do so absolutely to the letter. No one was entirely satisfied with having to forge a deal with the beast that was responsible for so much death and destruction in Sandpoint, but at that time we knew so little about Mokmurian, and the priority was to neutralize his allies by any means possible. Bribing him to stay out of the fight was a reasonable solution, distasteful as it was.

Once we emerged victorious, however, more and more of us were beginning to have second thoughts about the deal that had been struck. We were of course obligated to follow through, and there was little debate about this, but there were those, myself included, that were itching for a fight because we knew we could take him. And because it felt wrong to leave him where he sat, free to come for us at some point when the advantages were his. All we needed was an excuse to do it, one that did not require us to break our word.

In a sense, we gambled on his nature. All of us were certain that, given the chance, he would try to weasel more from us and failing that would turn to intimidation. This is where I drew the line: any attempt to balk on his part would make it fair game.

And balk he did. I of course was not expecting members of our party to bait him further, but I doubt the taunts did more than speed the advance towards the inevitable. Once he saw that we were victorious, and had brought him what was clearly a sizable share of the loot (and, I might add, a painstakingly accurate share: as I said, to the letter), he realized that he could have and should have asked for more. And that is when he began to argue, and that is when I knew argument would turn to threats. Some of us just ensured that happened quickly.

After we were unimpressed by his display, Sabin moved quickly and tapped Avia and I on the shoulders. With only a short warning to prepare us, we found ourselves teleported right in front of the dragon, quite literally in his face. And we swung away, and he went down in a blur of steel, barely registering what had happened.

It was quite possibly the most brilliant tactical move I have seen. It’s one we should remember for the future.

Soon, we head to the tower for a quick exploration. We wanted to spend more time here, but we learned via sending that there is trouble in Sandpoint—which came as no surprise, for there is always trouble in Sandpoint—and we must return quickly. The tower, however, is here and we have an opportunity to deal with it now, and that is what we are going to do.

Our plan to release the dragons into the fortress in hopes that they would cover up our presence here was wildly successful, far more so than we had imagined. Cona informed us this morning that the two young wyrms were blamed for the escape of the dwarves, the deaths of the ogres and giants in the forge, and even the lammia. They were captured and killed with further served the purpose of leaving no witnesses to our presence in the caverns. Not only does no one know we are here, but there is no reason to even suspect it. We have bought ourselves more time and considerable freedom of movement.

But there is still Mokmurian. Alert to our presence or not, he is a dangerous foe and even more so surrounded by the beings with whom he has entered into service and they must be dealt with.

The first of these was an ancient hill giant which occupied a room on this very level. The battle with him was brutal and unexpectedly lengthy, for he could meld into the dirt to heal himself and we had no means (magic or otherwise) for affecting him in this state. The first time he did this we could do nothing but wait for him to return and we were interrupted by a pair of stone giants who had come wandering in for reasons unknown. We killed them and tied them up on posts that were in the room for this purpose to make it look like the hill giant had lost his temper and patience– something we were told was not unheard of– and thus set him up as responsible for their deaths. When he emerged from the dirt we were ready for him and took him down quickly, and we buried his remains save for his head which we took with us. In this manner we have used his reputation to our advantage, and once again we seem to have covered our tracks and bought ourselves more time.

The passage to the lower levels that house Mokmurian’s chambers and study are private, and no one dares enter there except at his order. With the hill giant dead there is not likely to be someone who will follow us there. As for the lower levels themselves, what we have seen so far is a single path through a series of chambers, some with traps, some occupied by allies. This does suggest that we will have to fight our way to Mokmurian, which I am sure is intentional, but it also means we will not have to watch our backs. Or so I hope.

…made our own camp just outside the encampment of the army amassing around the tower. For several days we sat and we watched, as more giants arrived to join the amassing army.

Observation confirmed that which we had begun to suspect: those who were entering into Mokmurian’s service appeared to be young, perhaps the equivalent of the age at which most human adolescents begin to rebel. It makes a great deal of sense. They are strong, healthy, passionate, and…easily swayed and influenced, something they seem to have in common with human recruits and soldiers. (It’s funny that I do not think of myself as young anymore even though I am not much older than I was when joined the guard back home. A lot has changed since then.)

The more we watch Jorgenfist, the more concerned I become that we are in over our heads. We are isolated, far from home, and surrounded by hundreds of stone giant soldiers which are formidable even untrained. Harpies patrol the skies. A red dragon, quite possibly the same one that we encountered in Sandpoint– we certainly hope it is, for having two dragons in between us and Mokmurian is a very unpleasant thought– appears to live in a cave on the northern edge of the valley. And at night we have seen three more dragon-like beasts that our casters believe to be wyverns hunting for prey.

A frontal assault is obviously out of the question. Having had enough of this, and growing more concerned that we may be discovered the longer we stay at the edge of the valley, we are moving out tomorrow to the ravines east of the tower. It’s probably too much to ask that there be some sort of back entrance that is unguarded, but plenty of these hills have caves and that suggests that there could be a network of caverns underneath us. If we are lucky, that will turn out to be the case, and if we are luckier still one might…

Oathday, Sarenith 19

The giants’ attack on Sandpoint was as bizarre as it was ferocious. As we have made our way across the plains towards Wolf’s Ear we have seen the signs of raiding and scouting parties– campsites, pillaged towns, even a makeshift grave– and heard many stories of the same, but none seemed as well coordinated as what we faced. Perhaps they were just more prepared since Sandpoint is large enough a city to have resources to defend itself, and such an assault cannot be done ad-hoc, but what we have learned suggests that it simply has the misfortune of having been built in an important place, one with ties to the Thassilonian age that is somehow important to a larger scheme. This makes Sandpoint special, and deserving of a level of attention that is sure to make life difficult there for the forseeable future.

The raid, as it was, seems to have served two purposes. The first was exactly what it appeared to be on the surface: attack the town and drag away valuables and people. The second, however, was an attempt to retrieve a piece of the old lighthouse, for purposes that are not yet clear. Our wizards tell us that there are spells for communing with stones, and they suggest that there is something that the artifact…witnessed?…that is of great importance.

It was through a combination of luck, skill, and trickery that we managed to stop them short of their goal. While we have fought a number of foes, we have not been in a position where we have had to defend so many fronts, and so many people, at one time since the goblin assault many months ago. Of course, this time the attackers were larger, stronger, and though fewer, much deadlier. Faced with only bad options, we split our party up into smaller teams to deal with each threat as it came, and some of us very nearly lost our lives for it. And as bad as each encounter seemed, with each new one the situation grew more dire.

I’ll admit to being frightened at the sight of, not one, but two dragons flying over the city. One red that breathed fire, and one white that I am told spread ice and frost. I later learned that the second dragon was, in fact, a clever and well-timed (if not poorly communicated) illusion from Trask, created to keep the real dragon at bay. In that, I can say that Trask was largely successful, as the dragon did little more than torch a few buildings, and only claimed a few lives. Yes, the damage was severe, but what was intended to be a vehicle of panic and fear was instead kept somewhat to the edges of the city, wary and mistrustful of its surroundings.

The giants and dire animals, in contrast, were very real. Fortunately, we were able to use our numbers and our knowledge of the city to gain the upper hand and quickly turn the tide. I am told the last giant was felled just a few hundred yards from the city walls.

From his interrogation we learned of Mokmurian, a sort of upstart, insurgent leader with ambitions of uniting all giants under his reign. His plan appears to be to whip up a frenzy with promises of retaking the human lands, and these widespread raids appear to be early rewards for his followers. While I do speak of it a little flippantly, I have no doubts that he is very dangerous and very capable, and he certainly has the mettle to make it happen. We are told that he has a great deal of magical talent, and was audacious enough to claim a taboo site in his homelands as his fortress. These are the signs of one who knows they have power, and knows how to use it to wrestle control from others.

Though we have so far been successful, sometimes comically so, in defeating the bands of giants as we come across them, I do worry about what is on the road ahead. After entering Jorgenfist, we will no longer be dealing with isolated raiding parties of overconfident and under-prepared adversaries. We will be quite literally surrounded by giants. Though our resources are numerous, they are not unlimited and even these small skirmishes have left us drained. And then, there is still the matter of the dragon, a creature that breathes fire and flies high where it is difficult to fight. I fear that we are neither prepared to defend against it– we can all be burned by fire as easily as we burn others– or to take meaningful combat to it.

I will raise this concern with the party in the morning. We need to think, and to plan.

Toilday, Pharast 4

Jakardos and Vale have gone to check on the dam while we stay at the fort to begin repairs and purge the place of any signs of the ogres’ occupation.

We are all exhausted from the fighting of the past two days. Despite our superior numbers and considerable talents, our foes were very nearly a match for us even when divided into small groups. Without the care, caution, and deception that we used to infiltrate the fort, we would have quickly found ourselves overwhelmed and forced to retreat, if not killed out right. Fortunately, our planning was sound and we were able to prevent the ogres from alerting one another so that we could dispatch them two or three at a time. How the rangers were ever able to keep these creatures in check was something of a mystery to me at first until it became clear that they never had to contend with more than a couple at a time. The ogres have never had this level of organization before. Individually they were tough but easily dispatched; organized under the guidance and influence of Lucretia, they were significantly more deadly.

The biggest coup was, of course, finding and destroying Lucretia on our very first night. I took a great deal of satisfaction in delivering the killing blow. For you, Olithar.

The plan to use her image to lure others in was crucial to our strategy of divide and conquer, and it worked so well on these simple creatures that we could probably had kept it up indefinitely (in the end, the opportunity to fireball the mess wagon was too good to pass up). Oh, how they were terrified of her. It never occurred to them that she might be destroyed, or that anyone would even dare to impersonate her.

Of course, this also served as a reminder that there are other sisters, and that Xanesha got away from us in Magnimar.

Fireday, Pharast 7

We are leaving now. As Tekkad had feared the dam has been breached. The river is rising quickly. Turtleback Ferry is in danger.

Starday, Pharast 1

The surviving members of the Black Arrows created crude funeral pyres and Takkad said his words. Then we lit the flames and watched as the fire consumed it all: the obscene house burned to the ground, and the bodies of those slain were reduced to ashes. The smoke was, I am sure, visible for many miles but miraculously we did not attract any unwanted attention. And that was that.

What came next was less pleasant, and in many ways more distasteful. That Kaven would willingly and so eagerly turn on his own, knowing the fate that lay ahead, left me in a bitter mood. There are those in our party who believe he may have been influenced by magic, in the same way that Trask had been, but what I saw was just a young man with no moral compass and a desire to live a life where riches are given and not earned. There is an obsession that comes with the influence of magic, and it is something that I have seen enough of to recognize, but what is most telling is the change in a man’s character. In Kaven I saw no such thing. Magic was not necessary to get him to betray those who put their trust in him.

That Jakardos did not see the connection between Kaven’s convenient excuses and delays and the attack on the fort is not surprising. Who among us would look at one of our own? Who would suspect a traitor? He is fortunate that we were here, not just to aid in their rescue but to also provide an objective eye.

Soon we travel to Fort Rannick, which we hope to retake form the ogres that invaded many weeks ago. While I am sure it will be dangerous, possibly even deadly, I am actually looking forward to the simplicity of battle. We know what side we are on, and what side they are on, and that is all there is to it. This will be a welcome change.

Fireday, 28 Calastril

I am taking a few moments to write while the surviving members of the Black Arrows decide what is to be done with the remains of their companions.

The sights in the farm house will be with me for some time, and were as gruesome and violent as any we have witnessed to date, including those at the Misgivings. We have all agreed that the house and the barn will be burned. This was one of those rare moments where we were all in consensus, and almost no words needed to be spoken to reach it.

An interesting twist to this tale: Jakardros, the apparent leader of the Order, was revealed to be Shelalu’s step-father, who apparently left her after her mother was killed (when? where? how?). There is more to this story– much more– but now is not the time to ask. It does, however, explain Shelalu’s personal interest in our mission, the cold stares once they learned of one another’s presence here, and Jakardros’ breakdown outside.

I must go; they are ready.

Fireday, Calistril 21

We are finally putting some distance between ourselves and Magnimar and I am happier for it. As much as I enjoyed visiting with family and friends, there was always this constant reminder of why I had left and I suppose I’ve also become accustomed to our travels, and a lifestyle that ties us to nowhere in particular.

We’ve been joined by Takkad, who refers to himself as a healer. It is obvious to all that there is a religious aspect to this, but for whatever reason he does not talk a great deal about it. To each their own. My friends actually gave me a bit of a hard time for what they say was more an interrogation than conversation when we were finally introduced, but what did they expect? I am told he had been watching us for a few days– at which point I did recall seeing him in the inn on several occasions, I had just not put much thought into it at the time– and with our recent experience with shapeshifters and Xanesha I thought a bit of caution was in order, especially when a man claiming to be a healer just happens to come along at exactly the moment when we are in need, and still hurting from Olithar’s death.

Shalelu also found us again (how does she do that?) and asked to join us on our journey to Turtleback Ferry. At first I was as cautious with her as I was with Takkad. How many coincidences could we have in one week? But it did not take long to put that fear at ease, especially once the stories about Sedgewick came out. How she managed to stay in his company for so long remains a mystery with me, though obviously her patience did have its limits.

I assume her motivations for joining lie in her kinship with the rangers up north. I know she was not “hired” by the mayor as we were. I always suspected our rather large “gift” was something of an unspoken retainer, and now I know. I am not offended by this, it’s just less direct than I prefer to be. This has earned me more a small amount of ribbing from my companions.

We cross the river in the morning, and then begin our travel through the forest. I asked Shalelu what to expect, as she has been this way before, and her reply was a unhelpful side comment about gnomes. It was the voice of someone with a great deal of patience; patience that had not quite reached its limit. I wonder what that says about Sedgewick.

Wealday, Abadius 15

Olithar’s death still hangs over us. Over me.

I am not naive. This work that we do is dangerous and not without significant risk, and Olithar like the rest of us knew those risks and faced them willingly and without hesitation. In the past months we have seen many terrible sights, witnessed violence on a scale unheard of in modern times, and confronted an ugliness that would chill even the most hardened man. Though we never spoke of it directly, we were all aware of how close each of us has come, some of us over and over again, to giving our life for this cause, and that it was but a matter of time before misfortune caught up with us. And so it did.

Part of me understands Olithar’s wishes to not return, but part of me also wishes that it wasn’t so. Such is growing up, I suppose.

I am frustrated that Xanesha lives. We were close. We had her. But we lacked skill with ranged weapons, having relied too much on magic in the past to meet this need. As prepared as we were, the assault on the tower has revealed a critical gap in our capabilities, and it is one that must be filled.

One wonders how much higher a price we would have paid had we not taken the time to plan our rather unusual ascent up the clock tower. It is clear from Xanesha’s meager defenses that she had expected nothing more than a simple, direct assault from the interior stairs. By coming up the outside with magic to aid our ascent we were able to reach the scaffolding nearly unscathed, closing the distance so rapidly that they had no time to adjust to our tactics. The best they could muster were a few bricks that were left over from the feeble attempts to repair the structure, thrown at us as we climbed.

If our plan had a flaw, it was that it simply worked too well and allowed half of our party to reach the roof without adequate combat support. From what Rigel and Kane describe, however, that may not have mattered in the end, for Xanesha had a few tricks of her own and Olithar’s fate was sealed in the first few seconds of her appearance. The best we might have managed had we all been there would be to give her more targets to choose from, and that is a sobering thought.

Even unprepared and disadvantaged Xanesha proved a difficult and capable foe. Had we been forced to come up that scaffolding as she had intended we might be mourning more than just one of our friends. Our cleverness is cold comfort, however, as Olithar is dead while Xanesha lives. I am not one for revenge and settling scores, but…this situation does not sit well with me.

Joaqin says that feeling will pass. I hope so, because I cannot afford to have my judgement clouded.

The mayor has made us rich men (and women) and I have to admit that I am surprised, shocked even, at what he has done. Not just the money, or even giving us his word and then keeping it, but also the actions he has taken to protect his town, and the citizens whose names appeared on Xanesha’s list. This is not the Lord Mayor Blah Blah Horse’s Ass that I thought I knew, or maybe it’s that he’s far more complicated a man than I ever gave him credit for and that I only knew one facet of many. I don’t know. In the end, he is doing the right thing, and not just for himself.

I would never have guessed.