Arodus 15, 4712 (Ravenscraeg, early morning)

We spent the night holed up in one of the storage rooms. Or rather, in the extra-dimensional space created by destroying the eggshells. It was awkward setting them off among the shelves of wool, cloaks, and furs, but they only last a couple of hours each and we had to make do without being seen. That meant using an unlikely hiding place. I am told the guards here did at least think to look in the closet in the middle of the night, but it was apparently not an exhaustive search as the watches were otherwise uneventful. Either that, or they figured we’ll come out eventually so why bother? I am betting on the latter.

I was hoping our clandestine raid would stay clandestine a little longer than it did, but it seems our luck ran out rather quickly. At least we made it up the cliffs and inside undetected: that part of the plan went pretty well. What frustrates me is that we spent all that time preparing to get here, and none for what we would encounter once we arrived. I mean, it should have been obvious that we’d go up against poisoned weapons given how many of the damned things have been tossed around by these people—including the one the night before last—and yet here we are without a single defense against it, magical or mundane. Olmas nearly died because of it. This overnight stay will fix that, but the ultimate consequence of it is that we have lost whatever momentum we had. These people probably have a pretty good idea of what we are capable of, and now we have given them the time to prepare. It’s going to be a hard day.

I had a difficult time sleeping so I spent more time going over Snorri Stone-Eye’s diaries. He was known for his tremendously successful raids on settlements and colonies throughout the Steaming Sea, including within rival Linnorm Kingdoms and the occasional visit to northern Varisia, but it was the brutality of the same which would earn him the nickname “The Mad Reaver”. This proved to be somewhat prophetic in a different sense, as over the last several years he grew more and more obsessed with predictions of the end times. He wrote of a final battle between the gods and the freeing of Rovagug which would result in the ravaging of the world. His later entries are not so much diaries as they are the ravings of a madman in the grips of paranoia.

The gradual shift from rationality to mania happened slowly but it is clearly visible when read in one sitting. He really did believe his false eye turned him into some sort of seer with visions of the future. His last journey, the one where he apparently contracted his illness, was to a cluster of unnamed islands in the Steaming Sea. He was searching for something—he doesn’t say what—that would protect his fortress during the coming war, and that is where the diary ends.

I am not sympathetic to what happened to him. He was a thug who lined his pockets, and those of his backers, with coin and treasure taken from those slain by his own hand. Their only crimes were existing and possessing items of value. The man was a vile lunatic, and before that, just vile. He earned his fate.

(Ravenscraeg, mid morning)

They were waiting for us in the balcony when we emerged from the storage room and ambushed us as we made our way towards the tower. It goes without saying that they are good at hiding in the shadows, but amazingly we walked past two of them without even knowing they were there. Not one of us spotted them. It’s unsettling.

Did they know where we were? Or did they just guess that we were hiding somewhere on the upper levels? I suppose it would have been fairly easy to work out a likely where and when. They know where we had been and where we hadn’t, and probably worked out how we got in. We need so much rest, enough time to prepare spells, and so on. What this suggests is that we are easily predicted.

As impressive as the ambush was, the fight did not last long. As usual, it was brute force and magic, particularly healing, that made the difference. Few can stand up to Radella, Ana, Sparna, and Olmas face-to-face, and when Qatana, Etayne, or Ivan can tend to their injuries they are just short of implacable. When our adversaries called for reinforcements, I added to our own numbers by summoning a leopard from the Celestial realms. You would not think one large cat would have an impact but they are fearsome animals when they have the room to move. They charge their foe, leap onto them and attack with their teeth and all of their claws, all at once. It did this twice, and both victims fell in an instant.

I left a paper flower on one of the bodies, with a blessing to Shelyn and a message to those who would find it: it is not too late to abandon this place and this path. Life is a precious gift, and it should not be squandered by visiting hate and misery upon others.

Look, I am not naive. The main level appears to be mostly barracks and guard rooms, and the Tian ninjas had erected a shrine of sorts in theirs; a shrine to Yaezhing, the Minister of Blood, god of harsh justice, murder, and punishment. His followers are not going to suddenly grow a conscience. But I am compelled to reach out.

(Ravenscraeg, late morning)

A couple of days ago we had this discussion about whether or not the Rimerunners Guild was a legitimate business or just a front for the Frozen Shadows. Obviously, the guild has been around for far longer so they didn’t start out that way, but what about now? Could we consider the two organizations to be one in the same today?

It seems we can more or less put that question to rest. Meet Lute Haggersly: Ulfen merchant, elected member of the Rimerunners Guild board of shareholders, and prisoner of the Frozen Shadows. If Lute is to be believed—and again if this is some sort of ruse it is ridiculously elaborate—he committed the offense of refusing to support one of Silverskorr’s motions or proposals before the Board. When he would not be swayed by her arguments, she turned to bullying and threats. When he failed to acquiesce, she followed through by imprisoning him here. I am not an expert on the inner workings of either publicly held companies or criminal organizations, but I will venture a guess that most of the former do not routinely imprison dissenters and most of the latter do not outsource their governance. The rank and file of the guild may not realize it, but it is clear that they are now little more than a veneer of legitimacy over, and a source of funding for, something much uglier.

If that weren’t enough, he offered a rather jaw-dropping piece of news: this organization seems to be run by a purple ogre—purple—and he insists that the ogre is, in fact, Silverskorr. It sounded ridiculous at the time and his evidence was thin, based solely on having heard Silverskorr’s voice right before seeing the ogre enter his cell to taunt and threaten him, but then we stopped to think about it. Ogre mages have a place in Avistani legends, and in those stories they don’t seem to have a set description or appearance. Each story seems to describe them differently. Maybe there’s a reason for that, and purple skin would very much fit in with it.

And what about the oni? Maybe, like Kikonu, an ogre mage is a kind of oni, much like there are many forms of devils and demons. Kikonu could change his appearance and become almost human. Would it be so hard to believe that Silverskorr can change her shape, too? Assume the form of a human woman? And why stop there? If the ogre mage can change it’s shape, then maybe this isn’t even the “real” Silverskorr. Maybe the Silverskorr everyone knows is an imposter.

I know how this is starting to sound, but that is the thing about shapeshifters: they breed paranoia. You can’t trust what you see and hear.

We asked for Helgarval’s opinion and he had little to offer except to say that we have our work cut out for us. Thanks, but we had worked that out on our own. He then followed up with, and I am paraphrasing here, “I’m confident you’ll be victorious. And if you aren’t, then I’ll find another group.” Great. Thanks for that, too.

This room we are in is a prodigiously stocked alchemy lab. Etayne is the real expert here, of course, but I had enough instruction while in school to understand what I am seeing. I have no doubt that I could find just about any item I needed for casting a spell or brewing a potion, provided it wasn’t particularly rare or valuable. On top of that are all the flasks, vials, beakers, and other alchemical equipment one would need for creating infusions, brews, and, yes, toxins. According to Etayne, the plants here are all poisonous in some form, covering just about every plant-based poison known to man.

Etayne is searching through some lab notes, and it appears that all of this is Runecaster’s personal work and research space. This goes a long way towards explaining the glass box near the center of the room. The less said about that wasp-infested corpse the better. We watched it beat (ineffectually, thankfully) on the glass as it called out to us in what sounded like infernal. Etayne says he bought the wasps off of a Chelish wizard. What a surprise, right?

Gods. These people.