Erastus 18 (Late Morning, Brinewall)

Within a half an hour it was clear to all of us that the broadly accepted story of the mystery of Brinewall was an exaggeration. I am hesitant to say that it is an outright lie as I understand that people are fallible and imperfect; even faithful accounts can take on a life of their own in their retelling. There is a game that is often played among children, where the first in a line whispers a secret message to the one next to them, and it is passed in turn down the line to the end. Make the message complex enough, or the number of children large enough, and the message delivered to the last child is significantly altered from the original, sometimes to the point where it is no longer recognizable.

I firmly believe that is one of the ways in which legends are born: each storyteller embellishes the tale in some fashion, omits certain details, blurs times and events, or possibly even makes an honest mistake here or there, making small changes that build over time to shape the new tale. Whatever the source, though, the end result is still the same: a distorted representation of real events, and more often than not done on purpose for greater dramatic impact. And such, I think, is how the mystery of Brinewall came to be.

The story we had all been told growing up, the one nearly all of Varisia accepts as truth, is that the residents here simply vanished without a trace. Even Takkad’s journal—Qatana was kind enough to lend me her copy—perpetuates this fanciful narrative. Within it, he wrote:

Near the mouth of the river a small village, Brinewall, protected by its own castle, once served as an outpost to the region, but the entire population of the town and castle all vanished sometime in the mid 4680’s. All the houses, offices, merchants, shops, and other businesses were left as if the occupants had just popped out for a moment and would be right back. But right back never came.

As soon as we saw the buildings, though, it was obvious that the mystery of Brinewall was far less mysterious than this recounting would suggest. The battle ax scars were unmistakeable, and not all of the buildings were left whole. It was very clear that the residents here had not simply “vanished”. The town, and likely the keep as well, had been invaded and its population almost certainly slaughtered. Brinewall was a ghost town, yes, but it was born out of worldly violence, not supernatural forces.

Those who have come here over the years have seen this. And certainly, any who were sent to investigate in those first few months would have as well. So how did this version of the truth come to pass? It was probably not a huge leap to get from “missing with no trace, and signs of a fierce attack” to just “missing with no trace”. What little we know of the truth is already deeply unsettling.

Yet, obviously, the legend has not been enough to keep looters away as there is nothing of real value left here save for some tools and everyday supplies. The longboat docked in the lagoon, of a design common to the northerners in the Linnorm Kingdoms, suggests that such raids continue to this day. Though, in the grand tradition of Brinewall, there is no sign of the boat’s complement (perhaps the dead sea drake on the shore next to it has something to do with that).

One of the more curious discoveries was the cemetery. Unlike the village to which it is attached, it was well-kept, with manicured grass and clean gravestones. Therein was also a lovely shrine to Desna: a statue of her holding a copper bowl that turned regular water into holy water. As we were discussing this modest miracle, the answer to the mystery presented itself in the form of a tiny, butterfly-winged celestial being named Spivey. A servant of Desna, the azata found her way to Brinewall more or less by accident some years ago after her mistress was killed, leaving her stranded on the material plane. She has tended to the cemetery and the shrine to Desna ever since.

Spivey knew nothing of the people of Brinewall or their fate as she came to this place long after the town had been decimated. She did, however, know something of the occupants of the castle nearby.

“They are bird-like men. I have never seen them fly.”

When asked about any patterns or habits they might have, she thought for a moment before answering, “They hunt at least once a week. It’s been a few days since I last saw them.”

Informed of our plans to clear out the castle, Spivey offered us sanctuary in the cemetery and healing if we needed it. She also suggested that we stay away from the water’s edge. Creatures living in the lagoon were periodically feeding on the corpse of the sea drake, and if we got too close they would certainly come up to defend their territory. Our interest was the castle, not hostile marine life, so we thanked her and followed her advice.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Mid-day)

Look. I don’t really know what I am doing. The only reason I suggested that we attempt to lure some of the bird-men out of the castle was because castles are designed to prevent the very thing we were wanting to do. If it sounds ridiculously naive now, it felt even more so when we were hiding at the edge of the forest, staring up at walls that were two stories high. Waiting until a hunting party emerged on their own seemed more logical to me, but many of the others wanted to move quickly, especially Etayne who felt that every delay was more time with Ameiko in peril and us doing nothing to address it. So instead, we adopted this silly and complicated plan involving illusions of pigs and animal calls to communicate with one another, and of course lying in wait. I remember thinking that there was no way something this ridiculous could possibly work, but I was proven wrong in short order. To my astonishment, the gates opened and a group of bird-men emerged, intent on finding their next meal in their own front yard.

Our ambush was not perfect but it was effective. If I had been thinking more quickly, I would have moved up along with Olmas and been there in time to prevent the guards at the gate from raising an alarm, but that did not matter in the end for there was almost no one to hear or respond. As soon as we made it through the open gates and up onto the walls, we spotted the remaining bird-men on guard duty on the opposite parapet, manning an aging catapult. They did not expect us to approach from atop the walls and were quickly dispatched.

Corbies. Specifically, dire corbies. These were our foes: a race of bird-men with arms instead of wings who were known to mostly live underground and not in abandoned castles. In retrospect it all fits, but of course I wasn’t expecting to find them here and so the thought hadn’t occurred to me. How did they come to this place?

In another odd twist, it appears that the castle may be haunted after all. In a small storeroom off of the dining area on the upper level, we found a strange undead creature: an emaciated human child with the skull of a fox for its head. It was a terrifying being and a grueling fight, apparently denying Qatana the use of her voice and leaving Olmas fatigued at its touch. After it was destroyed we were able to get a better look at the room and saw the skeletal remains of a young, human child pinned under a pile of firewood. It appeared that he had been placed in here for safekeeping, only to have the contents of the room collapse on him and crush his legs. He left crude drawings on the walls, childish images of bird-men, ogres, and men that resembled ninjas of Tian Xia. More evidence that the castle and village had been attacked and its occupants slaughtered.

The presence of ninjas is one of those coincidences that it feels we shouldn’t dismiss or ignore. Rokuro’s letter hinted that her family’s enemies would lie in wait forever for their opportunity to strike. It seems Brinewall was where they finally caught up to him.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Midafternoon)

The chapel was once a shrine to Desna but the corbies’ priest or priestess—I do not know how to sex a corby, nor am I particularly interested in learning—has completely defiled it. While enough time spent with simple cantrips can be used to undo the defacing of the walls (foul paintings reminiscent of Pazuzu, done in blood) the statue of Desna has been damaged extensively and neither Ivan nor I believe it can be repaired. At this, Sparna remarked, “It might be better to just completely take it down.” I am reluctantly forced to agree.

Their cleric, dressed in tattered and disgusting robes, was every bit as loathsome as the corbies themselves and then some more for good measure. Though it managed to hit us with spells, it was quickly boxed in and killed. Good riddance. Strangely, it had managed to thoroughly befoul the chapel proper, but it left the small priest’s cell alone. Inside the tiny living quarters was a small but impressive arsenal: four enchanted arrows, bane to evil outsiders.

The other rooms in the upper level of the castle appeared to be communal living quarters for the corbies, themselves, but there was one that seemed to house only a single occupant. It, too, had black feathers in it, suggesting that there is a head of their flock that we have yet to meet.

In  another room, this one likely the armory, there was a ghostly manifestation: walls that ran with blood, with faces emerging from them, shrieking. It was enough to frighten even Sparna who does not scare easily. I know little about such matters, but an obvious explanation would be that many of the castles defenders had died here.

The last room we explored on this floor appeared to be a study of sorts. Inside were stacks and stacks of paper filled with dense handwriting in Tien. I took the time to translate just a few pages on a whim and was shocked to discover that someone has been writing a play. A play about a family of crows that turn into humans. The stacks of papers were endless drafts and revisions of the would-be playwright’s epic masterpiece. That it was written in Tien was noteworthy, as it is something I would not expect of a corby. Curiouser and curiouser.

Crow play excerpt (PDF version)

And, there is something profoundly amusing at the notion that one of the occupiers, and perhaps the conqueror, of Brinewall castle spends their free time—and based on the enormous stacks of paper there, quite a lot of it—writing a play. I guess everyone has a hobby.