Erastus 19 (Noon, Brinewall Castle dungeon)

Radella is meticulously and patiently working the locking mechanism to the hidden passage in the cavern in order to coax it into opening. There is a striking dichotomy in watching her finesse her tools like this: her movements are slow, gentle, and precise, in contrast to the enormous sword laying on the ground at her side which she normally swings with a terrifying strength. I don’t really know how to characterize her. I’ve been exposed to enough grafters, vagabonds, and thieves to recognize the archetypes when I see them—my time spent in Magnimar was all too instructive—but she defies such simple classification. In this way she is a lot like Ana: neither of them fits the mold into which their kind are typically cast.

Where does this door lead? It has been cut from the stone of this hollow and worked in a manner to hide its existence. That, combined with the complexity of the lock, suggests it was intended as an escape passage, a secret entrance, or perhaps both. The Historical Record does mention this network of caverns below the castle, and it would seem that the builders incorporated them into the dungeon’s construction (even if they blew it on the structural planning). Using them in this manner certainly makes sense.

Before descending from the ground floor we explored the outbuildings on the west end of the keep. The wooden structures were almost certainly horse stables in their time, but now they were home to an ettercap and its giant spider companions. At learning this, I completely froze. I am not afraid of spiders so much as their venom; I know what it does, I know what my limitations are, and because of that I did not want to be anywhere near them. Fortunately, my companions were more than up to the task and I was not only not needed, but likely to have gotten in the way had I been part of the battle. So far I don’t think anyone has noticed my reluctance (inability?) to engage with these creatures—this is the second time that it has come up—but I worry that one of them will make the connection if it becomes a recurring theme.

We had our choice of three stairways for coming down here and we opted to follow our noses, which meant starting from the room where we first encountered troglodytes. I couldn’t really find fault with the logic, as we suspected there were more of them down here and we’d have to deal with them eventually, but it did mean beginning in the midst of a foul stench and descending into far worse until we were nearly choking on it.

It also provided an opportunity to correct an oversight from earlier, which was to search the debris in that room for anything of value (in our defense, we were expecting reinforcements to arrive at any moment, so we had more urgent matters demanding our attention). And it’s a good thing we did because we would have missed some valuable clues about Brinewall’s fall: that room appeared to have been a meeting room of some sort, and buried in the trash were tattered and torn reports from the night the castle was attacked.  The remnants were incomplete, but we were able to assemble enough pieces to reconstruct the night’s events. The guards in the castle were preparing to respond to what they thought were riots in the town. The implication here is that the attack on the town came first and was misinterpreted as civil unrest. The guard probably learned the truth only when the invaders were inside the castle walls.

Sparna took the lead in descending the stairs, being perhaps the only one of us who is heavily armed, heavily armored, and capable of seeing in the dark. As we suspected, there were more troglodytes down below, but rather than launch an attack through a narrow doorway we opted to try and bring the fight to us. This almost worked.

I haven’t known many dwarves so I don’t know if this is typical or not but Sparna has a somewhat crass sense of humor that tends towards blue, and while I can appreciate this it seems that the troglodytes did not. I say that the plan almost worked because he succeeded in goading some of them up the stairs, but I was ultimately too clever for my own good and may have been our strategy’s undoing. The grease my spell placed on the landing was effective, and unexpectedly entertaining, but it presented one obstacle too many for the enemy. The remaining troglodytes were smart enough to withdraw, retreating to a fortified position and leaving us with the original problem, only now with them alerted and better prepared.

Still, we are a resourceful group and Qatana and I were able to deliver some unpleasant surprises that softened their ranks, and after a fierce and intense battle, our party was victorious. This was no easy task, as the troglodytes were not only dug in but highly, if not surprisingly, disciplined and remained so even after Sparna had felled their commander.

A small armory near there yielded a surprising find: a case containing several flasks of alchemist’s fire. I glanced over to Etayne and she gave me one of her ominous grins. The witch is downright obsessed with fire.

(Mid-Afternoon)

We are taking a few moments to rest and to heal. Especially Olmas, who took a severe pounding.

With the ogres dead we could finally turn our attention to the Ulfen woman being held prisoner in one of the cells. She was tall and slender, but hardly slight: there was no mistaking the muscular build of a warrior. She had watched the entire fight in stoic silence, and cold, hard eyes glared at us through dirty and matted blond hair after it had ended.

Etayne, ever the diplomat, started the conversation.

“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!”

I suggested that we tone down the interrogation a bit, but too many people had questions they wanted to have answered and they all came out seemingly at once. Eventually, the woman had had enough. “Am I your prisoner now?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

We took the keys off the bodies of her former jailers and opened the cell, but she did not step out. Her eyes kept wandering to a pile of armor and equipment on the floor next to the wall.

“Are those your things?” Qatana asked.

She nodded.

“Go ahead.”

And at that, she softened. Just a little. After she had donned her armor and weapons, I asked, “Was that your longboat we saw docked in the lagoon?”

She was reluctant to talk about it at first but confirmed that it was. Kelda Oxgutter—that is her name—came here some days ago with companions from the Linnorm Kingdoms. They had heard the stories of Brinewall and assumed, wrongly, that the abandoned town and keep would be ripe for looting. When they came ashore they were attacked by the sea drake and Kelda was the only survivor. She was captured while exploring the castle on her own.

In turn, she asked why we were here. I explained about Ameiko, her condition, and the connection to her past and her family. Maybe that was more than I should have said, but she had shared quite a bit with us, so it seemed fair to respond in kind.

“It is possible that what we learn here may take us farther north. Perhaps, eventually, across the crown of the world to Tian Xia.”

“If that is the case, I’d be willing to accompany you as far as Kalsgard.”

Honor and reputation matter a great deal to the Ulfen people, in the Kingdoms in general, and the way she spoke of her companions and her capture suggested that it meant a great deal to her, personally. But could we trust her? She seemed as wary of us as we did of her. The story she told did not contradict anything we had seen, and it also answered some questions of our own. So, I believed her. If this was a ruse, it was ridiculously elaborate.

She also looked more than capable in a fight, too. So why not take the chance?

(Late Afternoon)

That may have been the most frightening encounter we’ve had, and among the most difficult. Qatana has been badly hurt; likely poisoned. It is dead, but we threw everything we had at it, and in my case even things that we didn’t.

It began in the crypt. The sarcophagi had been broken open and despoiled. Everything of importance in there had been taken including the bodies of the dead. The entrance to it was in the center of an intricate iron screen: a wooden door adorned with a beautiful painting of Pharasma, goddess of birth, death, fate and prophecy, seated on her throne. To Pharasma, what had happened in here was a terrible crime. Her priests are stewards of the deceased and protectors of graves.

I was immediately suspicious when an image of her manifested at the far end of the tomb where the wall had partially collapsed to reveal a cavern beyond. But being skeptical is not the same as being certain, and though I am knowledgeable in matters of religion Qatana is the expert when it comes to Pharasma. She began her life in that church before…well. Before.

“Qatana…? We need you here.”

I needed time for my spell to work, to confirm my suspicions that this was merely an illusion. The image of Pharasma spoke to us, encouraging us to lay down our arms and approach; this was almost certainly a trap. The brief exchange that followed was enough to confirm for Qatana that this “Pharasma” was a fake, and for me to recognize the source of the image as mortal magic. Radella put an arrow through it, and it was gone.

But who, or what, created it?

We entered the cavern beyond the crypt and found ourselves on a wide ledge a good twenty feet above another passage. And then I saw it floating up near the ceiling. It looked like a deformed octopus, only with a giant maw filled with sharp teeth, and ten tentacles that were writhing in the air. I quietly spread the word, but its senses were keen and it hit us with a powerful spell before we could react.

One night last year, as we were discussing magic theory, Eudonius told me that it was possible for wizards to perform spells beyond just what we had prepared as part of our morning rituals, only that doing so meant drawing upon the very energy that sustains us. He cautioned that it was not a decision to be made lightly because of the toll it exacts, but I looked up at that thing as it swooped in for an attack, at our weapons bouncing harmlessly off of its hide, and I knew that this was the time. I had memorized a summoning spell—my sole remaining spell for the day—but the creatures I could conjure with it were not up to this task. So I did it. As I worked the spell I reached deep into myself and shaped it into a more powerful form, one that I was not yet able to prepare on my own. I could feel a wave of fatigue wash over me as I did it, but I succeeded in bringing forth a powerful ally to assist us: a lantern archon.¹

The glowing ball of light materialized in the air behind the decapod and began searing it with beams of light and energy. In the meantime, my friends had figured out that it was vulnerable to either weapons made from cold iron or enchanted with magic, and the sum total of these attacks exacted a terrible revenge for what it had done to Qatana. It quickly broke off and flew back up to the ceiling where we had first seen it, and cried out to Pazuzu.

“Father! Help me! Pazuzu!” it shrieked, over and over.

It was…almost pitiful. Almost. And then Qatana hit it with a spell, a burst of sound, and it blew apart in the air.

Afterwards, the others told me it seemed to flinch and hesitate during the fight, that it singled out Qatana, and was distracted easily by their taunts. And I recalled the riddle Ameiko had spoken:

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one. His fear is your greatest ally.

Another one down. Only two remain.

Erastus 18 (Night, Brinewall Cemetery)

Kikonu is dead. Who is Kikonu? I’ll be honest: I am still not sure and I don’t really know what is going on. I am trying to piece it together from the scraps of information we have uncovered so far, but there is too much that we don’t yet know.

This began with exploring the tower. What was formerly the library (and, arguably, still is as the books are still intact) had become the private room of Zaiobe, a mute, oracle harpy that has been living in the castle for many years. She was the first being we have encountered since stepping foot in here that did not try to attack us on sight.

Who is Zaiobe? She is, or rather was, Kikonu’s lover. So you see the problem: some of these answers are circular.

She could communicate telepathically with whoever she was touching, and she had a lot to say. Most of that boiled down to this: she had “grown tired” of her lover and she wanted to kill him, but she needed help. There was obviously more to this story than she was telling us because you don’t just kill someone because you are tired of them, harpy or not. She must have been wronged in some fashion, severely enough that revenge was her answer. In exchange for our help, she would give us information.

Who is Kikonu? He came from Tian Xia, and specifically from Minkai. He is an outsider of some sort, able to take the form of a man-sized bird with black feathers. When in his human form he looks like a Tian man with red skin and a rather large nose, but with raven-black wings sprouting from his back. In Tian Xia she says he is considered a horrible monster, but what kind of monster she didn’t know. Some might consider him a demon, but that is as often as not just a colloquial name for an outsider of any sort.

Zaiobe believes he came here when the castle was initially attacked or shortly after that, but possibly for his own reasons. That is conjecture on her part, but it would be an amazing coincidence if she was wrong about the first. Regardless, he is the de facto man in charge and if we want answers we will have to confront him.

We had several more questions for Zaiobe, but what made me most inclined to believe her was the seemingly innocent one that I had Qatana relay (reluctant though she was to do so). “Why was he writing a play about corbies?”

I knew at once that I had struck a nerve. Watching her communicate with Qatana was fascinating because it was like watching two people talk without the words: there were still the facial expressions, gestures, and other non-verbal cues we all rely on in conversation to convey meaning and emotion. Up to this point, all of Zaiobe’s responses had been controlled and measured. I could see her expressions change, and follow her emotions to some extent, but she was managing her part of the duologue carefully. At this question, though, that mask slipped away and there was just raw Zaiobe, channeling years of frustration and anger.

Qatana, who was trying to relay to us what she was “hearing”, could barely keep up.

“Because he’s….he’s changed! In the last several years he’s become obsessed with becoming the king of these corby things. His latest amusement is writing this play and having them act it out and making me watch them and it’s horrible!”

Her rage was so plain she was practically steaming with it. “Tired of him”, indeed.

This was the point where I truly believed she wanted him dead (this play was merely insult piled on top of injury), and both wanted and needed our help to do it. And, based on her description of him, Kikonu was not going to be an easy opponent even for the eight of us, so we would need her help, too. And so we struck an agreement, and the wheels were put in motion.

The ambush was set in a large, ruined building on the edge of the abandoned village, at Zaiobe’s suggestion. We agreed to this, figuring that she would know best where to arrange a meeting with him without arousing his suspicion. At the appointed time, she flew in and stood in wait while we got into position. A few minutes later, Kikonu came up the path along with a retinue of four dire corbies. His personal guard?

“My darling, I have the greatest new scene to show you! Wait until you see this!”

I could almost feel the waves of hatred radiating off of Zaiobe in that brief moment. There was no question about what she wanted.

As soon as he stepped in the door, we struck. At first, he was confused and cried out to her for help, but Zaiobe responded with a black arrow that burst into flame when it hit. And then he realized he had walked into a trap of her making. Rage overtook common sense, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared from the doorway and reappeared at Zaiobe’s side to strike. This fight was bitter and personal.

For the most part, I stayed out of it. I saved what remained of my spells for his guard, who were trying to circle around through another entrance in order to even the odds. Etayne and I held them at bay while the others focused on Kikonu. It was an intense and brutal fight, but with Zaiobe’s help we were victorious.

I ushered us out of the building as quickly as I could, fearing what was coming next, wanting it to happen in daylight rather than shadow where confusion would reign. And she did not disappoint me. Within minutes, Zaiobe’s broken body lay in the street. I am still upset by this.

Spivey had offered the cemetery as a place to rest and heal, and we took her up on her generous offer. Over the next hour, we told her what we learned of the castle and all that had transpired. Nihali agreed to relay messages back to the caravan and we learned that Ameiko’s condition was unchanged, but for the first time I felt like we were finally closing in on some answers.

As night settled in I walked down the hill to the northern edge of the cemetery and laid down in the grass just a short distance from the shrine to Desna. The white, marble statue was gleaming in the light of the waxing moon. It was relaxing, just being there and watching the stars come out.

We had been traveling together for over two weeks, now, pretty much living on top of one another the whole time. Even when spending the night in settlements and cities, we stayed together with the caravan just out of an abundance of caution. I certainly enjoyed the company of my friends—I wouldn’t be traveling with them if I didn’t—but seventeen days is a long time to go without any sort of privacy. I just needed some time alone and the sanctuary of this place was our first opportunity for it since leaving Sandpoint.

I rolled onto my side and ran my fingers through the grass absentmindedly as I watched twilight fade. Nihali landed in front of me and settled in. I could barely see her outline in the moonlight.

Spivey may have sensed something, or perhaps she was just curious why I was out here (mostly) alone in the dark because after some time had passed I caught the faint glow of the tiny azata out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to follow her progress as she skimmed over the grass and landed next to Nihali. My familiar stretched out her head and neck, allowing Spivey to stroke her gently.

“You’re not sitting with your companions?”

Her tone was very tentative and something about it suggested that she was, very politely, asking if something was troubling me. A couple of years ago I would have just smiled and blown off the questions, both the one stated and the one implied, but I had since learned not to equate vulnerability with weakness. Not always, anyway. With the right people.

“I wanted to clear my head. This seemed like the right place for that.”

Spivey gave Nihali one final scratch just above her nape. Nihali raised her head slightly and opened her beak momentarily before closing it again. That was certainly the right spot for that. Spivey looked at me and smiled.

“It is. Is it something you want to share, or would you rather I left you alone?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Zaiobe.”

Spivey considered this for just moment, then said, “You said she turned on you.”

“Yes. It was stupid, what she did, and completely senseless.”

I don’t know what possessed her to do it. Did she really think she could overpower the eight of us? How did she think that could possibly work? I remember keeping an eye on her after the battle with Kikonu and his personal guard of corbies. She just stood there, watching us as we wrapped up. She had that look on her face of someone who was waiting for us to get distracted enough to be ambushed. It’s why I suggested we go outside and finish our business in the light where we could see, instead of the dark of the ruined building. A thinly veiled ruse? It didn’t matter. The point was to let her to know that I knew, without me having to actually accuse her of something. It was intended as a deterrent, and an excuse to get everyone else outside and paying attention.

In the end, it wasn’t the best of ideas since she could take to the air and shoot at us from above, which is exactly what she did, but at least we knew when and where it was coming. Had we stayed inside, one of use would certainly have paid a heavy price for our inattention.

I continued, “That’s not what’s bothering me, though. To be honest, I never trusted her. I more or less expected this, or something like this, to happen.”

Can you really trust someone who plots with strangers to murder their ex-lover? What a relationship that must have been.

Not that I am good about trusting people. Early lessons taught me to put more faith in what others do instead of what they promise. It’s not that I am suspicious of everyone, it’s just that reading people is hard and I am not very good at it. It is much easier to just assume that they will act out of their own self-interests until proven otherwise.

“So what is it then?”

“We…made an agreement with her. She really did feel like a prisoner there, and her kind being what they are…I believed her when she offered to help us ambush this Kikonu. All she wanted, in turn, was just to be…left alone. She wanted to stay in the library that she had turned into her own living space. We could do as we pleased elsewhere in the castle, as long as we respected her privacy and her home. And we agreed. Because we needed her help.

“But a confrontation with her, I think was inevitable. We were lucky. By turning on us, she solved a looming problem. I mean, that agreement we struck…it wasn’t really tenable, was it? She couldn’t stay there. We’ll be done here, soon, and people will return to reclaim it. She has no rights to it, and it was not our place to grant her sojourn.

“And on top of that, there’s a shrine to Desna there. How long could such an agreement last?”

My thoughts were still a mess—they still are even now—but Spivey understood what I was getting at.

“You feel that you made an agreement in bad faith.”

“Yes.”

She thought for a moment, looking up at the sky and the stars. Legend says that Desna, herself, placed them there. Her temples are often open to the sky.

“Did it ever occur to you that she bargained in bad faith?” I’ll admit that this took me aback. Of all the responses I was expecting from her, this one was not on the list. “You say you didn’t trust her. I’m saying you were right not to. How can you be sure that ‘being left alone’ was what she truly wanted? You found a symbol of Pazuzu on her person when she fell, after all. That, alone, should be enough to question both her words and her motives.”

She paused for a moment and then continued.

“I think, on some level, you all knew how this would end; you felt safe making that agreement because you knew she had no intention of living up to it.”

She looked at me and smiled.

“You say what happened was luck. Perhaps you’re right. Your actions here have benefited Desna, after all.”

“I…I suppose. Though…I’m not a follower of Desna.”

Her smile turned into a big grin.

“You told me about the temple. I am sure Shelyn would have words about that, as well.”

I am not really convinced by this argument, but it is something to think about.

On the far side of the hill, just below Mercatio’s crypt, my friends had set up a couple of tents in the dark and covered them with a blackout curtain so that there could be light inside—courtesy of Ivan’s cantrips and some common rocks—without drawing the attention of whoever may still be dwelling in the castle (I am not the only one who spends late nights writing down my thoughts). Kikonu may have been the overlord of his little fiefdom, but his death did not necessarily make the castle or the ruins any safer. If anything, the resulting power vacuum could make things worse if we don’t address it soon. So, for now, an abundance of caution made sense.

Tomorrow, we return to the castle, starting with the library and then working our way through the main floor. If Zaiobe is to be believed, Kikonu compartmentalized everything, keeping his subjects isolated from one another and more or less in the dark. Only the corbies seemed to enjoy a run of the castle, and even that is supposition. If true, though, it may make our task easier.

Erastus 19 (Morning, Brinewall Castle)

I‘ve been reckless this morning and I need to get a handle on it. My friends need to know that they can trust me and rely on me, and these outbursts are counterproductive. But I will get to that.

Our first stop after returning to the castle was the library which was in remarkably good condition considering what had happened here. We were able to find maps of the castle, including some old construction drawings, and a fascinating, hand-written tome titled A Historical Record of the Colony at Brinewall. It’s not quite as useful as it sounds because it’s not a true history text: it’s really just annals of the colony since its founding in 4442. It’s not indexed, and there’s no summary of events which means you’d more or less have to read it from start to finish. And it’s the worst sort of reading, mostly dull log entries and recordings of everything that the authors deemed significant enough to write down nearly every day, ranging from the weather to gossip to absurd details about the construction of the castle and the town, visitors, raiders, and so on, depending on the annalist’s whims. Still, it has value; it will just take time to glean information from it. We took all of this with us.

About my behavior. The first incident was when we encountered the troglodytes. One of them called for reinforcements which never came. That in itself is not unusual. What was noteworthy was that their barracks were, quite literally, next door. As in, we opened a door, and there were four more troglodytes in there, deep in slumber. How they could sleep through the sounds of battle and a cry for reinforcements only to be awoken by an opening door is beyond my comprehension. I don’t know why, but I acted out. It was foolish and stupid and tantamount to gloating. It is a sign of overconfidence and overconfidence is what gets people hurt or killed.

The second time…I like to think that I have an excuse for that one, but it still goes against Irori’s teachings. I may not be a member of that faith anymore, but I still owe much of who I am to his tenets.

The quickling was as foul a creature as I have ever encountered, a sadist and bully so far beyond anything and anyone that I ever met or was victimized by that my mental discipline broke down. Once I realized she started her work while her victims were paralyzed and still alive, I was overcome with rage and felt compelled to act (I can feel my temper rising again as I write this). Lacking any other spells that could reach from where I was, and seeing a room filled with that grotesque interpretation of “art”, I filled it with a burst of glittering dust.

What was I thinking? It had a chance of blinding her for one, much better than my simpler spell could manage even if I were close enough to use it. But mostly? I wanted to ruin her “art”. I wanted to defile what she had done.

I am usually in better control of myself. It was a hard lesson I learned growing up. Many of the injuries I suffered were because I couldn’t reign in my temper. I was certainly not responsible for what happened to me, but the very first time I gave in to anger I catalyzed a cycle of torment that lasted for years.

And in the process of losing my temper here, I wasted two of my newest and best spells in the span of a few seconds.

This last room we entered seems to have been the office of the captain of the guard, and the captain himself had become a wight. I remember the words Ameiko spoke to us while in her possessed slumber: Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was. Is this what happened to Rokuro as well?

From what we saw of the room, it seems that the captain was interrupted while writing a hurried letter, describing an attack on the castle by men “wearing black robes”. Another possible reference to ninjas from Tian Xia? The story was starting to piece together.

After Qatana and Etayne wandered off on their own and found a giant beetle for their trouble, we paused for a few minutes to discuss what we should do next. I took that time to review the letter again and found an interesting, though throwaway, detail: the attack came in the night, during a powerful storm. To the captain, the storm was just weather, but to me it was a reference point. The Record of the Colony at Brinewall did not go far enough forward in time to cover these events, but I didn’t really need it. The ships that set sail from here, the ones sent by Rokuro, went aground in Sog’s Bay during a storm. The timing had to be the same. At this time of year, it was not uncommon for storms to lash the Varisian coast, some of them lasting several days. Another coincidence that was too much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence.

Had Rokuro anticipated an attack? Had he sent those ships south into, and in spite of, the storms because he feared one was imminent? Did the invaders use those same storms to their advantage, to give them cover as they sacked both the town and then the castle?

I was flipping through pages of the historical record while explaining my theory to the others when I happened across a mention of the reconstruction of the east wall of the castle. It was just dumb luck.

While I could probably figure out the jargon and conventions of the construction plans given time, Radella was far more versed in this than I and I asked for her help in finding any plans for the walls and, in particular, any dates associated with them. Within a couple of minutes, I had learned another valuable and shocking piece of information: the east wall of the castle had collapsed into a network of underground caverns!

“The east wall collapsed. They must not have surveyed the cliff thoroughly, or at all. There are caverns under the castle. A huge complex of them. The weight of the castle caused the ground to cave in, collapsing the wall and part of the castle into the caverns. And listen! Not soon after, ‘Hideous, bird-like men emerged from below. They stood as tall as a man, covered in black feathers but with arms instead of wings…’

“They attacked the colony. This was in the early 4460’s. The corbies…they have been here for over 250 years! The colonists must have thought they drove them off or killed them. But obviously they didn’t, because they are still here. And, the caverns! If there are caverns, there has to be an entrance somewhere, right? A cave? Maybe in the cliffs, or even just in the ground somewhere.

“Right?”

If I didn’t have everyone’s full attention before, I definitely had it now.

Olmas looked thoughtful for a moment and asked a series of questions that was really just one.

“The castle was knowingly or unknowingly built over a series of caverns? The corbies emerged from those collapsed caverns and presumably there was a skirmish/conflict/battle, but there was still time afterwards to rebuild the east wall, and life went on thinking the corbies had been taken care of?

“Is there any record of when they reappeared?”

That was not so easy to answer. I flipped through the book, skimming pages until I found what seemed to be the right place.

“It was finished in 4469. So, they rebuilt the wall and eventually finished the castle. They thought the corbies were gone. Or maybe they sealed off the caverns, or thought they did. The way this is written I’d have to read the whole thing. It’d take hours and hours. But it seems they finished the castle and then…well…it looks like life went on.”

Qatana, on the other hand, was focused on the caverns themselves. She was silent for a moment—she had that look she gets when she’s “talking” to one of her mouse skulls— and then exclaimed, “There is probably an external entrance to the caves, but maybe the corbies tunneled up to the cellars of the castle itself, and then broke through and invaded from within! There are three sets of steps leading down from this level, and I bet at least one of them will connect with the tunnels.”

That sounded logical to me. “Whatever is down there…if we go east, as far east as we can, we’ll probably find out.”

Every answer we find is accompanied by more questions.

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.

Sarenith 29 (Evening, Magnimar)

Tien is dizzyingly complicated. The written form has thousands of pictographs and the spoken language is tonal. I’ve gotten started with some introductory lessons here over the past couple of days and some books that will allow limited self-study, but this is not going to be an easy process. Fortunately, I’ll be spending the next month on a long, and likely dull, caravan journey with a native speaker.

Erastus 1 (Afternoon, Sandpoint)

I checked in with Sandru and the caravan preparations are complete. The last of the wagon upgrades was finishing up while I was there and the provisions have probably been loaded by now. We’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow morning.

I first got to know Sandru when he was working as a caravan guard back in the early 4700’s. Dad used caravans a lot for transporting goods between Sandpoint and nearby settlements, even the coastal ones like Riddleport, and I watched too many to count load and unload at the warehouse. Most of the caravan guards tended to be gruff and not very sociable, assuming that they even had anything intelligent to say, but Sandru was the exception. It may have been in part because he grew up here, but I think it was mostly just Sandru: he likes people, he likes to talk to people, and he’s genuinely friendly. What I remember the most about him, though, is that he talked to me more or less like an adult. A lot of people talk down to children. Sandru just wasn’t like that.

His family has been entangled with the Sczarni for as long as anyone can remember. Sandru is one of the few that wants nothing to do with them and he tends to keep away from Sandpoint except for business. My understanding is that he and his older brother do not get along; dad tells me that Jubrayl is the local Sczarni leader so I can see how that might put a strain on family relations. Staying away probably makes that easier.

When Ameiko ran off that second time to pursue an adventurer’s life Sandru was part of the group. Neither of them talked about what happened out there when they came back a year later and he disappeared for a while after that. In a way, they both did: Ameiko retreated into herself and threw up walls while Sandru was more literal about it. In time, he came back to Sandpoint only as the owner of his own caravan. Like Ameiko, he had used the coin he’d earned from that year in the wild to make a new life for himself. Mom and dad actually used his caravan a lot in that time—I think they still do, in fact—as he tended to keep it pretty close to Sandpoint, Magnimar, and Riddleport and they already knew and trusted him.

Mom gets a kick out of flirting with him and basically making him uncomfortable, which is just one of those things mom does sometimes. I’ve often wondered if it bothers dad. I brought this up to him once a couple of years ago and he said, “I trust your mother completely”. Which was not the question I asked, but I guess it’s the one that matters. The last time we were in Korvosa was several years ago, and I asked grandma about what mom was like before she and dad met. She said mom was a pretty heavy flirt back then, but she intimidated boys. Like, a lot. Even the ones she liked. She chuckled and said, “Your dad was perhaps the only one that wasn’t scared of her.” Maybe that’s why he doesn’t worry.

I saw Qatana this morning as she was getting in from Magnimar. She seemed disappointed that we hadn’t traveled together. It should have occurred to me to ask.

Erastus 10 (Evening, Roderic’s Cove)

We encountered a small band of ogres just a few hours outside of Rod’s Cove. Sandru was very concerned about this, as ogres are just not very common in this part of Varisia, much less as a group working together to ambush travelers. We spread the word once we got into town to be on alert for others, just in case it wasn’t an isolated event.

Fortunately for us, our scouts spotted them before we rode into the trap. Our archers circled around behind them while the rest of us stayed with the wagons. Nihali actually played a key role in letting our two groups communicate with one another, albeit crudely. Once the scouts were in position, they let her know and I could feel her excitement. I relayed this to Sandru and Qatana, and they moved the caravan ahead, into the ambush.

Qatana was seated in the lead wagon. She lit one of the sky rockets, aimed it at the ogres’ position and let it go. The explosion spoiled their surprise but left us with several angry, injured ogres still intent on attack. Olmas bravely charged them on his horse, but they were just too big and too strong, and he ended up facing them alone without close support and got badly hurt. Help did arrive and he survived, but it was yet another close call for our group.

I bring this up in detail only because I felt like I was not able to contribute significantly to the engagement. Eventually, I was close enough to toss one of those little acid darts, but overall I felt so limited. And, to be honest, I am a little shaken after having had a lethal exchange with a living creature, even under these circumstances. (I’ve carried a crossbow for years, too, but have never shot at a living target with it, either.) It was one thing to do this to skeletons, and another when it was flesh, blood, and bone—ogre or not. But I couldn’t get close enough, fast enough, to use something else.

This sounds ridiculous after writing it out. I just don’t know how to explain the feeling. I am going to have to come to terms with it.

We tracked the ogres back to their temporary campsite. They’ve been out here a while, it seems, raiding who-knows-what. We found an eclectic assortment of money and valuables which can be used to fund the third supply wagon once we reach Riddleport. Once again, we are profiting off the misfortune of so many others.

Something else I’ll have to come to terms with, it seems.

Erastus 12 (Night, Riddleport)

We are fortunate. Riddleport is a large enough city that a supply wagon with an enhanced undercarriage was available, no waiting. It took us less than two hours to find both that and a driver for hire. We will be able to leave for Brinewall tomorrow morning.

Erastus 14 (Afternoon, Velashu Uplands)

Ameiko is currently sleeping in the covered wagon and we don’t know what’s wrong. Koya is looking after her as best she can.

We stopped briefly for lunch and I noticed that she was looking a little off. In Tien—we’ve been practicing daily, and I’ve asked her to only speak with me in Tien so that I can learn—I asked if she was feeling ill, but she answered in common because some of the others had also noticed and appeared concerned.

“I’m fine! Just a little tired this morning is all.”

She turned to finish cleaning up the mess area of our encampment, took a couple of steps and then collapsed.

No one knows what is wrong. There are suspicions that it’s a magically induced sleep of some sort, and may be related to Brinewall, but it’s all just speculation. What we do know is that her condition isn’t worsening, but it’s not improving, either. For now, we’ve decided to press on and monitor her. If something changes, we can always turn back.

Erastus 14 (Night, Velashu Uplands)

I am staying the night next to Ameiko. Earlier this evening she started talking in her sleep, only speaking in Tien. Koya had someone come and get me, but by the time I climbed into the wagon she had stopped. Koya agreed to let me stay with her, just in case she speaks again. It turns out that this was a wise decision because it happened two more times after that.

My Tien is still not great and her wording has been cryptic if not outright archaic. I can’t realistically use a spell because the incidents are too short and too far apart, so instead I have been writing down what she says phonetically and translating it after the fact as best as I can. This is what she said tonight:

Beware the birds that wish to fly but cannot.

One treasure beyond two seals in the third vault.

Ameiko has never, to my knowledge, spoken in riddles like this. More support for the theory that what is happening to her has something to do with where we are headed.

Erastus 15 (Evening, Velashu Uplands)

Ameiko spoke again today. I almost missed it.

Beware the cuckolded cuckoo. It is in his shattered, silent love you should seek aide.

My translation is a bit speculative there, but as I said yesterday Ameiko’s word choice has been unusual. There is no direct translation for the Tien, but it appeared to be a play on words of some sort between a terrestrial bird and one who had been cheated on by a mate or lover. The second part is ambiguous as well, and I don’t know if “love” is intended to mean an emotion or a person. That would mean the difference between seeking out “him”, and seeking out his lover. Since we are told to “beware” him, I am assuming the latter.

This is also the second reference to birds. The only bird-men I have heard of are Tengu, but I have never seen any in Varisia.

Erastus 16 (Evening, The Nolands)

Today’s clue is:

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one. His fear is your greatest ally.

There are demons with many arms and hands. But what would a demon fear?

Erastus 17 (Noon, The Nolands)

Ameiko spoke again this morning.

Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was.

We are all in agreement on this one: Rokuro has been turned into an undead. Possibly a kind that retains its will.

For the last several days, Ameiko has had neither food nor water yet her physical condition remains unchanged. There are spells that can sustain a person in this manner, but there’s no evidence that one is in effect. More mysteries.

Erastus 17 (Evening, Brinewall)

We have arrived.

Sarenith 24 (Afternoon, Brinestump Marsh)

Like all residents of Sandpoint I had heard of Old Megus, but I’d never actually met her myself. Rumor was that she rarely left the swamp, coming into town only to purchase obscure magical supplies. Most people referred to her as the Swamp Witch and based on Etayne’s reaction when we found her home that wasn’t just a colloquialism (and so it would seem that the Witch’s Walk was also aptly named). Of particular interest to Etayne were the numerous windchimes made of bone that were hanging above the porch, but when asked about them she replied that although they looked familiar she did not understand their purpose.

The shack was in poor shape. Neglect and the elements had taken their toll and the walls were dingy and sagging. Next to it was a partially collapsed shed which had long since given up the fight. No one had lived here in some time.

The ground around the buildings was covered with large rodent tracks which, of course, peaked Qatana’s curiosity and when she heard skittering inside the house it proved too tempting for her to resist. At least she knocked first. When there was no answer, she opened the door—this took some effort because the frame was warped—and went in with Etayne and some of the others close behind. Given the number of tracks on the ground, I chose to stay outside and keep an eye on both buildings from the front. Olmas went around back to do the same.

I heard but did not see the skirmish. Etayne emerged briefly to clean that long spear of hers, the end of which was covered in blood. “Dire rats,” she said with a half-smile when I looked at her quizzically, and then she went back inside without another word.

People surprise you.

Old Megus, it seemed, had died at her own hand. Etayne spent a lot of time examining the remains of her laboratory and had no doubt that there had been a mishap of some sort with one of her experiments. It was kind of a sad discovery. Megus had presumably come out here to live in solitude, but that also meant that she died alone and no one had noticed aside from her ratling familiar. Not that I approve of what she had been doing. Obsessed with transformation magic, her deformed corpse suggested she was mucking with the process of nature itself; it’s the sort of experimentation that taints all of us, especially in countries like Varisia where superstition runs strong.

As for the ratling, the arcane world has low opinions of these creatures but I am pleased that this meeting did not end in bloodshed and that we were able to part amicably. He was, after all, just defending the only home he has known for many decades, and we were the intruders. There was no reason to fight, and he seemed touched by the offer to bury his mistress. He even pulled out an amazing surprise: Old Megus had maintained an astonishingly detailed map of the Brinestump Marsh, and we made a rough copy of it in order to amend and correct our own. It is amazing what you can learn when you just talk to other beings and treat them kindly. Assuming of course, that they are not plotting to stab you in the back as you leave. (I think it also helped a great deal to have Etayne take the lead, for there was a level of understanding with her and Ling that would not have been possible with the rest of us).

One interesting mark on Megus’s map was the cave, which she indicated with a simple skull.

“My mistress said that the cave is very dangerous. Even she never went in there, and she was very powerful.”

Etayne replied, “Your mistress was very wise, and she was right to avoid it. Inside were many skeletons, undead created from the corpses of the crew or passengers on those ships.” Among other things.

He didn’t know anything about the skeletons. When asked if Megus ever dabbled with the undead, he shook his head.

“No. She was only interested in life.”

We told what we knew of the goblin village, the skeletons and their attack on it, and even the faceless stalker and the Warden. We were the oral Swamp Times, delivering the latest news to the denizens of Brinestump. And it turned out he had something to add on these matters, as well.

“I’ve been to this ship, too, which the goblins made up into a house. More goblins came to it one day and they fought each other.”

More mysteries. It explained the corpses, answering one question while raising a half-dozen others. Rival tribes? An exiled group? Not that it mattered.

We were able to walk to the second shipwreck from there which was a pleasant turn of events, but that decaying hulk of a Chelish ship was in much worse shape than the other. Without the benefit of any protection from the elements, there was little left beyond the deteriorating hull frame and remnants of its outer plating. A quick search turned up the nameplate which was still intact but severely weatherworn. A few cantrips cleaned it up enough to see a pair of Tien pictographs, and of course, I recognized the name Kaijitsu (I try not to be stupid in the same way more than once). The meaning of the other would have to wait.

Sarenith 24 (Afternoon, Sandpoint)

If it had not occurred to me that we hadn’t searched the entirety of the goblin village, we might not have encountered the Soggy River Monster. Once again, what the name lacked in originality it made up for in technical accuracy,

It was a foul thing and my magic couldn’t touch it, but there were many of us and just one of it, and now it’s dead. According to the Sheriff, this was one of the Sinspawn, horrid creatures that were discovered along with an ancient Thassilonian runewell under Sandpoint a few years ago. I remember several long, tense, and (I am not ashamed to admit it) frightening nights when the sinkhole had opened up, exposing the long-buried temple to the world above. We could hear unnatural, dog-like sounds coming from within. Eventually, the “Heroes of Sandpoint”, as the town called them (Sedjwick no doubt had a hand in that one), had returned and dealt with it. By then, mom and dad had already decided to move. I guess they had had enough.

Why bring this up? For one, it was interesting. For two, as I said my magic had no effect. None. It’s something we were taught while studying the craft as a warning against putting too much faith in spells as an offensive weapon. Some creatures are just innately resistant to mortal magic. Me? I took home a slightly different message, but it will be some time before I am able to master the alternatives.

Olmas and Anavaru are fierce opponents. Olmas you’d expect, but Ana? It still astonishes me. It shouldn’t, I realize, but when you know someone as long as we’ve known one another your perspective gets skewed. She was always quiet, kind, and funny, and we had quite a few laughs about her camel (I meant “horse” there), and that’s just how I remember her. I certainly noticed when she went from adolescent girl to young woman that-you-do-not-want-to-piss-off, but my head is still stuck a couple of years earlier than that.

She started spending a lot more time out in the wild after her dad was killed. She’d always had this thing for animals and getting away from the city seemed to bring her some comfort. I actually joined her on some of her overnight forays into the hinterlands. Once, we event spent a couple of nights trying to catch a glimpse of the Sandpoint Devil after having heard rumors that it had been seen in the farmlands near Tickwood. In retrospect, that was a really stupid idea but I must have felt safe with her around or I wouldn’t have even considered it.

We went to see Sheriff Hemlock as soon as we returned to town. I was just as happy to be rid of the ears and head we were required to provide as proof of our success as I was to collect the bounty on the same. While this sort of troubleshooter-for-hire work certainly seems to pay well, it does strike me as being particularly gruesome. It is also a little disquieting that you end up profiting off of someone else’s suffering. We are all several hundred gold wealthier than we were before—to the average person, an enormous sum that they will not see in their entire lives—but several less fortunate individuals are still dead.

Sarenith 24 (Night, Sandpoint)

Tonight I showed Ameiko the letter. Ana and I grew up with her so the two of us made plans to meet her at the inn before the dinner rush would leave her too busy to talk in private. We were joined by a couple of the others.

At first, there was that awkward moment that comes from delivering unexpected news where you are having two different conversations at the same time. But as our story reached the Minkai chest, and then the Chelish ship bearing the name Kaijitsu Star, I saw the realization dawning on her. We paused to let the news sink in. I was acutely aware of the sounds from the inn’s common room because the one we were in had become completely silent. There was a long pause before Ameiko spoke.

“A Chelish ship? The Kaijitsu Star? I…I’ve never heard of any of this. It…it doesn’t make any sense…”

“There’s more. A lot more.”

Ameiko looked at me and I continued.

“The footprints led to a cave on the edge of the marsh. Inside, we found over a dozen skeletons wearing Tian Xia style armor. We think they were survivors from one of the shipwrecks, but we don’t know what killed them.

“They animated and attacked as we explored the cave. In a smaller cave next to that was another skeleton, also in Tian Xia style armor, sitting on a jade and cherrywood chest, also of Minkai origin. This skeleton was also undead, only…it seemed to retain some of its will and memories. It pulled a sword from its own rib cage, issued a challenge of some sort to Olmas, and attacked.

“We think the goblins had stolen these chests, and that this is how they got the fireworks. And, somehow, this person returned as an undead and took revenge. He could control the other skeletons, and they raided the village and took this chest back.

“As for the sword, we identified it with magic and it has a name, The Whispering Shrike. It had a loose hilt, and inside the hilt was this letter.”

I slid it across the desk to her as I went on.

“We didn’t know what it was, and of course, none of us understands Tien. So I used a spell to read it. We think it was to your father from your grandfather. If we had known I wouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Before she started reading, I also showed her the name of the second ship.

“I didn’t have the spell available for the second ship. It’s also Chelish. I recognize Kaijitsu, but not the other pictograph.” (She would eventually translate this as Kaijitsu’s Blossom).

I watched her read. Ameiko does not always hide her emotions well and I could follow her progress just by watching her expression change from one to the next. At one point, she shook her head and, in a frustrated tone, said quietly, “Father, you could have told me…”

Lonjiku was not a pleasant man. Officially, Ameiko did not have many friends when she was growing up and even fewer still were allowed in his home (I was one of those few, but I never felt comfortable there). Unofficially, of course, Ameiko would never let her overbearing father dictate her life and she snuck out of the house so often to do as she pleased that he was either oblivious to it or resigned to her irreverence. I think the only reason she stayed at home was because she was all he had left and her culture has a strong sense of family and duty.

This letter, which she confirmed as coming from her grandfather (or, at least bearing his name), teased her with answers about her father and her family that had been gnawing at her for as long as I’ve known her.

She thanked us for bringing it to her and asked us to join her for dinner that night. She also, mercifully, said we could keep anything that we found out there (I say “mercifully” because it headed off a brewing argument over property and salvage rights, and other quasi-legal matters that were making me sick to my stomach, putting Ana’s, Qatana’s, and my history with Ameiko in conflict with the others). All she wanted was that letter.

Dinner, as it turned out, involved a few more people than we had expected. Joining us in her private dining room, which was packed tighter than I have ever seen, were Koya, Sandru and, of all people, Shalelu. It was obvious we were not there solely to share a meal together..

I’ll be honest. I was not the least bit surprised when, after everyone had finished eating, she announced her intention to travel to Brinewall and pursue this family mystery. I would have done it were I in her position. I also wasn’t surprised at her plan to use Sandru’s caravan to get there. She invited all of us to join her—Brinewall being what it was, it would be foolish to go alone—and from there, the other pieces began falling into place.

I, of course, was going if Ameiko was going and Anavaru was right there next to me. Qatana wanted any excuse to go anywhere. Shalelu would also accompany Ameiko, and that clinched the decision for several of the others. And Koya? Well, Sandru was going and she had practically adopted him, too. When all was said and done, the eleven of us had signed on.

Sandru gave us a quick overview of the trip, a one-way distance of about 500 miles over well-traveled roads that would take roughly 16 days. The last leg, up to Brinewall, was not as busy, but there was still the occasional caravan to and from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. He did not expect any significant trouble along the way.

His eyes scanned the room as he spoke, finally locking his gaze on mine. “I have a small caravan of three wagons. Though if we need to make some upgrades or additions, we can talk about that now.”

I swear the smug bastard even winked. And, just like that, I had come full circle.

Several years ago I was standing on the bridge just below the Cathedral, idly watching the wash being carried by the river. There was a maple leaf, large and bright green, drifting along in the current and it would hang up on a rock or a log or some foliage on the surface of the water, then break loose in a spin, meandering further downstream before catching on the next. I followed its slow progress towards town and the harbor beyond.

Ameiko had just left Sandpoint, again, and I was fighting this urge to wallow in self-pity after having lost my best friend. It seems so pathetic now, writing that, but when you’re fifteen the world is always ending because of some crisis that years later you learn is just life. I remember thinking at the time that she might be gone for good—though you could never tell with Ameiko—and what was going through my head boiled down to one question: “Now what?”

I had often come to this bridge when seeking solace and for a moment that afternoon I almost had it. It’s isolated in a way, a lightly traveled road on the edge of town. Look to the east and you could imagine you were in the forest instead of downwind from a tannery. I found it relaxing and centering. But as the leaf disappeared underneath the wooden planks of the bridge, I caught my reflection in the water and the bottom dropped out of the day. It was like the scene in front of me was my own personal metaphor.

Mom and dad just assumed that I would join the family business, and it’s not like I had given them any reason to think otherwise. This was worse than choosing or not choosing: it was not even acknowledging that I had a choice at all; just letting it happen. Childhood curiosity, an innocuous “What are you working on?” here and there, was the spark for that fire. They involved me in the simpler logistics early on, and it burned out of control when I proved to be good at it. Really, really good. Cargo manifests, bills of lading, customs forms, capacity planning, legal agreements, insurance, payment terms…even some preliminary passage planning. And I saw my future spread out ahead of me, sitting behind a desk buried in maps, calculations, paperwork, and forms.

The leaf didn’t have any say over where it went. I did. The next morning, I became an active participant in my own future for the first time and chose a path that had nothing to do with the mercantile system.

And yet, here I was years later, taking Sandru’s bait. At least, this time, it was my choice.

Sandru could have done this in his sleep but for whatever reason he wanted to involve me in the process. Or maybe he just got a kick out of putting me up to the challenge. It was all very Sandru, playing mentor, big brother, or uncle as the situation warranted.

Fine. Challenge accepted. Move over and let me work.

Ameiko offered up 2,000 gold of her own in financing. Which, first of all, is one hell of a sign of commitment on her part. We were sitting in the last thing I’d seen her commit to, and that was six years ago. Ameiko just didn’t do “commitment”. On top of that, our little group threw in the bounty from the Soggy River Monster, raising the purse by half. And with that, Sandru and I were off.

We numbered twelve in all, fourteen with Sandru’s drivers. Our caravan was already too small unless you like traveling with no margin for error. There were some efficiency improvements we could make, taking advantage of our collective experience bivouacking around the marsh. On top of that, we could reinforce the undercarriages of the wagons and increase our travel speed. Add in a few other improvements and I estimated we could cut our provisions by 15% and reduce the travel time by 3 days. If we were willing to stop at major settlements and sacrifice some travel time we could also do trading to pay for our provisions as we went.

Our route would take us through Galduria, Wolf’s Ear, Ravenmoor, Roderic’s Cove, and Riddleport. With the time spent stopping to trade in each settlement, we’d need 15 full days for the journey there. The longest leg was the round trip from Riddleport to Brinewall, and we’d need enough provisions for that plus a few days stay and a modest safety margin.

It took us a couple of hours, and I think we bored most everyone to sleep, but when Sandru and I were done we had the following plan:

1. Buy a supply wagon for the caravan here in Sandpoint
2. Outfit all wagons with enhanced undercarriages
3. Buy a second supply wagon once we reached Riddleport
4. Add an enhanced undercarriage to that wagon
5. Hire a third person to drive it

We had also worked out roles for everyone to contribute along the way (scouting, cooking, guard duty, and so on), and ensured that there were backups for each one.

And that is how you plan a caravan.

Tonight I also learned that Qatana remembers some of the fundamentals of the business, despite it having been over a decade. The wonders never cease. Throughout the planning discussion she was pretty alert, even offering her unique brand of helpful advice. (Some of it was actually quite reasonable, such as “If there is abundant water along the way, pack only dry goods like grains, nuts, dried fruits and salted meats” and “Cheese and dairy should be carried in waxed paper or cloth wrapped in damp cloth or stored in damp wood chips”, but others, like “Round wheels roll better than other shapes”, were less so).

Our plan calls for a lot of heavy equipment for a small city like Sandpoint, and it’s not going to come together overnight. Sandru estimates that it will take about a week before we’re ready to depart. Which is good, because I really want to go see my parents. When I left, this was only supposed to be a two-week visit. Gods, how things have changed.

Sarenith 28 (Night, Magnimar)

Tonight I told mom and dad about our trip to Brinewall. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I almost wish I hadn’t done it. I thought they might worry—dad especially—but I never imagined it would end in an argument. I was so angry afterward I just left and spent much of the night down in Ordellia. But i’m getting ahead of myself.

I showed them the fan and the pin, and told them the abridged version of events in the Brinestump Marsh because this was going to be hard enough as it was. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. As soon as I said I was helping charter and plan a caravan trip to Brinewall, and that I was going to be on it, everything just stopped. We sat there in silence for I don’t know how long. I don’t remember the last time I saw mom at a loss for words, or dad looking so…blank. Right then, I wanted to take it back and do the evening over again.

Dad recovered first. He spoke quietly but firmly. It’s a voice I knew well, and my stomach twisted in knots as the words came out.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

And I realized I didn’t have a good answer. I mean, I did, but how could I explain it? I had been back in Sandpoint for only a few days. What was I supposed to say? That in that time I had reconnected with Anavaru, Ameiko, and Qatana and we were suddenly best friends again? That we’d met some others and gone off on an adventure together, bonding over the blood of goblins, the bones of skeletons, and the hidden beauty of a putrid swampland? That there was a mystery involving an old friend and I wanted to help her find some “closure”? How do you say that without sounding ridiculous? Without sounding like we were treating our lives as disposable?

“Ameiko is my friend, dad. We grew up together. Why wouldn’t I help her?”

“Kali, listen to me: you are talking about Brinewall. Something terrible happened there. Something so terrible that it has been left abandoned ever since. People do not go there for a reason.”

This was true, but not in the way he was implying. All of Varisia had heard about Brinewall. The residents of the castle and town had simply vanished one day, just a few years before I was born, and no one knew what happened to them. Those who were sent to investigate described a disturbing scene of a normal day interrupted as if the whole town had simply stepped out for tea in the middle of what they were doing and never returned. The native Varisians and Shoanti are a superstitious lot and they invent explanations when none are forthcoming. People avoid Brinewall because 20 years of rumor have been fueled by a frontier land that’s bathed in mysticism. Depending on who you ask, Brinewall is either cursed, haunted, or both.

“And that reason may have something to do with her family’s history. She needs to know. She deserves to know.”

“Maybe she does. But you do not need to go with her.”

And if the mood was awkward and tense before, it suddenly got much worse. I knew where this was headed, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“She’s my friend and I am not going to walk away from her.”

“Because she never did the same to you?”

And there it was. I couldn’t keep my temper under control. “That is not fair! Not to her, and not to me!“

OK, fine, Ameiko had left and she had changed, and yes that had hurt. But reducing her life to just this event was wrong, and it was also a cheap shot. The rest of what we said to each other I don’t remember well enough to write down. Let’s just say it was mercifully short, and gratifyingly loud. At least, it felt that way at the time. Now? I just want to throw up. What I do remember is that mom never said a word. Not one word.

It was a long walk to Ordellia but I needed the time to calm down anyway. The district is mostly foreigners and is one of the few places in Magnimar where I actually blended in. I didn’t have a destination in mind, and except for a brief visit to the Rose and Rake I didn’t go anywhere particularly memorable. I just wanted to be anonymous and clear my head, something easily accomplished with a few drinks and plenty of crowds. After a couple of hours alone with my thoughts I was feeling pretty awful about how dinner had gone, what I’d said to dad, and how little I had tried to avoid an argument. So. Mission accomplished, I guess.

Despite its active nightlife, Lowcleft is not the safest place for a woman to be walking alone after dark but the route along the docks would take me twice as long and I just wanted to get home. Like Ordellia, most of the street patrols here are privately funded, only some of Lowcleft’s build their moral foundation on sand or silt. You don’t always know which of them are looking out for you, looking the other way, or just looking for opportunities to be street thugs with a badge and a salary. I got propositioned and catcalled a half-dozen times by an assortment of creeps and lowlifes, including one from that third category. But I am not a complete fool, and Nihali was discreetly watching over me, flittering between rooftops. She was a hole in the night sky; a shadow in shadows. Even I couldn’t see her, and I more or less knew where she was. As I crossed into the neighboring district her agitation told me that someone had decided I was worth following. I was too distracted or lost in thought, and had failed to notice the “victim” sign that had been hung around my neck.

It’s dangerous to start an armed fight in Magnimar. It’s not the city guard so much as the people: the guard will probably only arrest you, but in a city this size there are too many folks that are likely tougher and more deadly than you are. Pull a lethal weapon and you might find that you are woefully outclassed against someone who is all too enthusiastic to emphasize the point. As a woman, though, the rules are a little different because it’s a lower grade of thug and there are no guarantees that they will stop at your money or your jewelry. You need to establish that you will protect yourself by any means possible as soon as possible so why don’t you just move along. I’ve had to do it a few times, but tonight I was not armed with anything other than my dagger and magic is a terrible deterrent because you have to use it for people to get the message, especially when you don’t look the part. Note to self: next time you stomp off in anger, try to plan ahead.

I was already in a mood, though, so I decided to put a stop to this before it even got that far. With Nihali’s distress as a guide, I slowed to let my suitor get a lot closer, waited until I passed through a suitably dark shadow blanketing the street, and tried a new spell I had learned. A temporary pothole opened in the middle of the cobblestone pavement immediately behind me, and a satisfying thump followed by a mental snicker from my familiar told me my friend had tripped and fallen on his face. By the time he had gotten back on his feet I had entered the crowded square at the base of the Seacleft and the Irespan, and my second spell sent fog billowing out around me. In shoulder-to-shoulder people it wouldn’t be obvious who was responsible for that and I let the confusion buy me some time to let it spread and thicken before dropping the spell and turning up the hill to the Capital district. By the time I reached the top the fog below was so thick you couldn’t see more than a few feet, and I no longer had company.

I could officially get my hands slapped for doing that in the middle of town, but as I said I was in a mood and, at any rate, they’d have to catch me first and I didn’t stick around to let some bystander assemble a narrative. I kept moving and reached my parents’ home in Naos a little before midnight. Mom was still up and she knocked quietly on my door just as I settled in and started to write. We talked for a little bit and this time, I managed to stay civil and calm. See? I’m learning.

“I’m not a child anymore, mom.”

“No, you’re not. But your father is allowed to be worried, and he does have a point.”

“I’m not going there alone. There are twelve of us, including Shalelu. We can do this.”

“And how hard did you try to explain that to us, earlier?”

Heart-to-hearts with mom have this way of making me feel bad.

Sarenith 29 (Noon, Magnimar)

Dad and I apologized to each other this morning. Me for starting a fight that didn’t need to happen, and him for making that dig that was a little more personal than necessary. It was fine. We talked it out. I took my own advice (and mom’s) and told him more about our group and what each of us can do, and how we worked together in the marsh, and that seemed to put him more at ease.

There was one moment in that conversation that really stood out, though. He said, “It’s not what you tell us, it’s what you don’t tell us. You hide things from us, Kali. You always have.”

I felt like an open book, then. Just how much did they know?

Dad reviewed my preliminary caravan plans and, surprise, had no changes to suggest. As I said, I am good at this. He wasn’t thrilled about the stop in Riddleport (I got the feeling that Sandru wasn’t, either), but math doesn’t lie and there was no avoiding it, at least not on the way up.

We were able to dig up some maps that would be helpful and he pointed me at a couple of shops where I could find what I’d need to fill in the gaps.

Sarenith 23 (Mid-day)

I fell gravely ill when I was very young though of course I don’t remember any of it. My parents tell me they were traveling across the Carpendan Plains when I was four years old and the road took them along a marshland probably not unlike this one. No magic, no curses, no ancient horrors: just a simple mosquito bite paired with everyday misfortune.

We followed goblin tracks almost all the way in. Up above us, Nihali kept a watchful eye on the trail but the thick vegetation made seeing anything beyond its boundaries very difficult, and it felt like the swamp was slowly closing in around us the deeper into the marsh we pressed. If they somehow knew we were coming, we’d not likely see the ambush before it was sprung.

As it turned out I needn’t have worried. We emerged into a clearing of sorts that revealed the village in the distance, and from where we stood on the trail it looked eerily deserted. The front gate was completely broken down and there were no signs of activity. I asked Nihali to scout as safely as she could and she returned in short order with an ominous report.

“No guards, signs of life. Burned bodies, bones in the hole. Much fear.”

We approached the village cautiously and stepped into the compound. The gate had been broken down from the inside and then crushed in a stampede. Small footprints, dozens and dozens of them, told a story of a chaotic escape into the marsh. Whatever had happened here had terrified the goblins, sending most of the village fleeing in a mass panic.

A closer search of the grounds turned up a sinister explanation: skeletal footprints in the dirt, human-sized, leading into the village and back out again.

The charred bodies in the central pit were definitely goblins. A pig stye turned mass grave. It suggested there were still survivors here since someone had to be alive in order to burn and bury the dead, and we found the first of them in a small outbuilding. A half dozen goblins were cowering there in abject fear, and I suddenly felt uneasy about what we were here to do. Yes, they were goblins, and yes, we knew what this tribe had done, but that did not mean it was right to slaughter them in this manner.

But it did not take long for the situation to change: they became hostile and violent as soon as they saw what we were. The fight broke out in that first building and then spread to the courtyard when more goblins appeared at the window of one of the guardhouses. I tried to circle around using the platforms on the other side, but there was no direct path across and I ended up going deeper into the complex instead.

Eventually, I ran into Olmas, just as the rest of the party was preparing an assault into what they presumed was the goblin chieftain’s throne room. Etayne dropped down to the ground below and was able to count at least a half-dozen of them, in addition to the chieftain, through gaps in the raised floor. I was detecting faint traces of magic inside just as Qatana smashed the door in.

Nearly seven years ago on the beach in Sandpoint she flattened Jefy Theern, breaking several of his ribs when she slammed into him. I didn’t see it happen, or if I did the concussion erased my memory of it, but this is what it must have looked like. While goblin engineering, if you can call it that, is clumsy and primitive that door was still barred on the inside and sturdy enough to resist entry. Yet, under the force of her impact it shattered, sending a shower of splintered wood into the room.

Just seconds after the assault began an explosion in the doorway confirmed that the Licktoad tribe had, indeed, found a cache of fireworks. Several of us, including the chieftain’s own defenders, were enveloped in a starburst of searing, metallic powder that would no doubt have been quite beautiful from a few hundred feet away. While it was probably a waste of a spell—he immolated the last of his own with this trick—I answered with a color spray that left him blinded and stunned; Olmas and Anavaru delivered the killing blows.

A crudely hidden room turned up an astonishing surprise: a chest with a beautiful, red lacquer finish, decorated with etchings of cranes and frogs. I was stunned. It was obviously from Tian Xia, and almost certainly the Minkai Empire. It was a work of art.

Inside was something even more curious: a delicate Tian Xia fan which we unfolded. One side had an intricate painting of a gecko on backdrop of cherry blossoms. The other, unfortunately, had been painted over by the goblins but they had done so in order to draw a crude map of the marsh in wide, sloppy strokes. Bold X’s marked two locations along the shore and a third at the base of the cliffs just a short distance from the Witch’s Walk. (I don’t know if the goblins’ paint can be removed without damaging the original artwork, but it seems like something that should be attempted. When we are back in town, I will ask about this.) Presumably, one of these X’s is the shipwreck that is the source of the fireworks, but the others? Yet more mysteries.

Sarenith 23 (Evening)

We found the weatherworn shipwreck inland from the bay, far enough from the water that it was likely grounded there in a storm many years past. Curiously, the goblins had built a rickety fence around it complete with a broken gate. Ever the opportunists, they had apparently turned it into a home…which they subsequently destroyed by inadvertently setting it ablaze. From the outside, the two-mast Chelish vessel looked intact but the inside was completely gutted. Most likely their luck with the cache of skyrockets had finally run out and there had been an accident that led to a fire.

The dead goblins outside the ship, however, were anything but an accident. The badly decomposed bodies bore the telltale signs of battle injuries but gave no clues as to their assailants.

The name of the ship was still visible, and astonishingly it was written in Tien. I copied the pictographs as best I could since none of us could read them and even if I had the spell prepared it would have been a waste for just this purpose. Vudrani is a relatively young language on the scale by which these things are measured, and it evolved with heavy influence from Tien (I am told that in Tian Xia, Vudrani is even widely spoken as a foreign language). The two cultures have intermingled for centuries and I had an opportunity many years ago in Jalmeray to start learning Tien. Foolishly, I passed it up. As much as I have regretted that decision over the years, I am doing so even more, now.

Maybe if dad knew Tien things would have turned out differently. That may sound like I am shifting the responsibility for my decision to someone else, but the reality is that nearly all of my languages are a result of my parents’ influence. Dad, of course, spoke Vudrani at home as often as he did common: he very reasonably was not going to raise a daughter that wasn’t fluent in his native tongue. By nature of growing up in Varisia and having my mom as my mom I, of course, learned not just Varisian but Thassilonian as well—and knowing mom she probably started Thassilonian lessons while I was still in her womb. (Never mind that it’s basically a dead language known only by scholars and eccentrics.) And Elvish? A very useful language to have, of course, but that was both dad and mom, and motivated more by the family business than anything else. Only Draconic and Celestial didn’t originate with them, and if we’re being totally honest here the former wasn’t exactly a choice, either. Sure, you can learn magic without knowing Draconic, just as you can see with only one eye.

We are camped above the bluffs along the Witch’s Walk for the night. Down below, we came across the skeleton footprints and unsurprisingly they led to one of the locations marked on the goblins’ map, which turned out to be the entrance to a cave. What we were not expecting to see was a second shipwreck, visible just offshore in the distance and roughly corresponding to the sole remaining X. With the sun setting and the whereabouts of the skeletons unknown, however, the increasing prospects of a battle with the undead in a swamp in the dark seemed strangely unappealing.

Sarenith 24 (Morning)

Gods, I am an idiot. How many years did I spend around Ameiko? How could I not recognize the pictograph? How many times have I seen it? Dozens? A hundred? The Kaijitsu Star. There is an old adage about not noticing what is right in front of you, or what you don’t expect to find, and I guess this is what they mean. But still. I should have known.

I also feel like I have invaded her privacy, something that she has guarded carefully for as long as I have known her. I can’t say for certain that this letter was intended for her father, but the timing would be right. It’s dated 4687, just a couple of years before Ameiko was born. Sandpoint was founded in the 4660’s by the Mercantile League, an alliance of four families that included the Kaijitsus. Who else could it have been written to?

Ameiko did not talk much about her family, but I saw and heard enough of her father to know that he was a bitter, angry, and resentful man. Perhaps this letter explains some of that. Ultimately, I believe that we are responsible for our own decisions and choices in life, but we are influenced by how we are raised and how we are treated. How we respond to these trials is a test of our character, and perhaps this was one too many indignities for his. Did her father feel abandoned by his father? Did those feelings ferment over time into anger and rage, eventually driving his family away from him? What would have been different had this letter been received?

I need to see Ameiko. I need to be the one who shows her the letter, and the one who apologizes for this intrusion into her past. I’m sorry. We didn’t know.

And then there are the treasures we have found. Technically, they belong to the Kajitsu family which means that they belong to Ameiko. She will need to be told about these as well.

And what of this mystery? The caves below were filled with skeletons dressed in Tian Xia style armor. The second chest, made from cherry wood and jade, was clearly from one of the ships, and among its contents were more sky rockets and depressions where others had been removed.

It was enough to start forming a story of what had happened: the goblins found the chests which contained the fireworks and taken them, but someone, somewhere, created skeletons from the dead off of one or both ships. One of those, the one guarding the chest, had somehow retained its will and memories, and it must have been able to control the others. They raided the goblin village and took the chest back and brought it here.

But who created the skeletons? And what is the other shipwreck and how is it connected (if it’s connected at all)?

The caves were a harrowing experience. In the main cavern, the skeletons converged on us from all directions and many of the others had pushed too far in to be able to safely retreat. I thought we were going to lose Olmas but Ivan was there to provide some much-needed healing. Qatana, however, was quickly surrounded and there was no one close enough to help her in time. I don’t know how she did it, but miraculously she managed a healing spell just as the group of three skeletons descended on her and it saved her life.

This was the first time I have ever used those little acid darts in anger. I saw the effect it had on the skeletons. Dad, you can officially stop worrying now.

Sarenith 22, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Night)

I am not sure what I have gotten myself into here. Besides the obvious, that is, which of course is a swamp. Certainly this is not how I envisioned that the day would end, even after we made the decision to come here. I don’t know why—maybe it was Qatana’s confidence—but I just assumed we would be done before nightfall. In retrospect that was pretty naive of me.

Am I in over my head? Possibly, but I feel like this is a tipping point in my life. I could spend years scribing scrolls in the guild and researching and copying dusty tomes in some library in Magnimar, basically growing old and dull. Or, I could be like mom and dad, and take a chance on something more than safe. And, honestly, how much safer would that “safe” life be? The worst thing that ever happened to me was just a stone’s throw from my friends. There are no guarantees anywhere, not in Magnimar, and certainly not in Sandpoint.

I almost didn’t even come to Sandpoint at all. When the letter from Ameiko arrived, suggesting I come back for a few days to visit, I was more than a little apprehensive. For one, our friendship had been fading even before we moved away and I had long since come to terms with it. I didn’t know what it meant that she wanted to see me. And for two, this town had been hard on me growing up. Most of that was already solidly in the past, too, but it still brings back some unpleasant memories and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see some of those faces again, even in passing.

But in the end I said yes, and here we are. I guess curiosity and a glimmer of hope won out. I am not exactly sure what I was expecting from Ameiko, but if she reached out that meant she wanted to try and reconnect in some fashion, right? Maybe she’d be less distant, and maybe time had helped her—deal with? heal from? come to terms with?—whatever it was that happened out there, and that the walls would come down a bit.

They did a little. It wasn’t the same as when we were kids, but maybe that is too much to ask of anyone. It doesn’t matter. It was good to see my friend.

After Ameiko took over that inn years ago it became the de facto gathering point for travelers, thrill-seekers, explorers and their ilk, and it’s also one of the few places where you can go in Sandpoint if you and your friends want to meet your friends’ friends, and their friends in turn. It was the latter that had me there for breakfast (though I was visiting Ameiko, I chose not to pressure both of us by also staying there) and some time in the common room. It had been years since I had seen Anavaru—that running gag about her “horse” never seems to get old—and though Qatana and I have been in touch off and on in Magnimar it seemed wrong to not get together while we were both in town.

Speaking of Qatana, I am actually growing concerned about her. Obviously, what happened in Kaer Maga all those years ago was deeply scarring and I wasn’t surprised to see it affect her as it did. No one should have to adjust to life as an orphan. When I learned she was going to Magnimar to study under clerics of Pharasma I thought she might finally be healing those old wounds, and after we moved there ourselves I was able to see her from time to time. But then she became obsessed with Groetus and the end times, and her life took a radically different and dark turn. Certainly, it has given her great strength and resolve, and at the core there is still the Qatana I know—she even started a bakery of sorts in Magnimar, which doubled as a soup kitchen—but it colors her thinking.

At times she does not seem to be connected to what’s around her. She seems uninterested in taking care of her appearance. Her actions can be random and occasionally they show a lack of understanding of basic social graces. I am almost certain she hears voices and there are moments when I think I see her talking back to them. But mostly I am concerned because I don’t know what this means. Are those voices real spirits or beings? Is this a part of her relationship with the deities of old? I suppose all things are possible. But where will it lead?

To be fair, she is more…functional than most followers of Groetus, and I use that term “followers” loosely. Groetus does not really have followers so much as he has recluses, fanatics, and lunatics (and sometimes all three at once), and they tend to be doomsayers or obsessed with the dying and the almost-dead. But there are rare exceptions, and Qatana is one of them. “The world is going to end,” she told me once. “It could be today, tomorrow, or next week.” Her life has a sort of immediacy to it. Time is not to be wasted.

It was Qatana that first spoke up when she heard about the bounty that had been placed on goblins from the Licktoad Tribe (I don’t know for sure how goblins choose their tribe names, but I think it is safe to assume that they are not ones for metaphor). Of course, we all knew about the attacks on travelers and caravans which were mostly nuisance affairs, but lately they had taken to scaring horses with, of all things, fireworks that had been stolen from somewhere. That was news to me, as was the bounty had been placed on them once before and then quickly pulled. Apparently, some kids with more courage than sense got killed trying to collect on it, and Sandpoint didn’t want more would-be bounty hunters going off to the swamps and not returning. But now it was back on again, which means the fireworks had upped the both the seriousness of the situation and the urgency along with it.

Qatana was ready to go right then and there, simply declaring “I need money,” as if that were the only explanation necessary. It’s the sort of awkward thing Qatana does.

She started asking “us” if we’d join her, and so the interview process began. And who, exactly, was “us”? The aforementioned friends of friends. A few people I’d seen around before we’d moved away, a few I’d heard of but didn’t know plus some faces that were entirely new. The interview process was mercifully short, with Qatana’s qualifying criteria being one of either “carries a large stick” or “casts spells”. (She can be refreshingly simple.)

When she asked me, I didn’t answer at first. My hesitation came from thinking about the kids that went out there before us and died for their trouble. That was a reminder that you don’t just go kill a few goblins as a means of minting coins: they may be the butt of jokes around this part of Varisia, but that does not mean they aren’t vicious and dangerous, especially in numbers. In a way, it sounded both cliche and naive to declare that we could just walk out to the swamp and “take care of it”, especially since many of us had met one another for the first time not just that morning, but that hour. But as I said earlier, I felt like I needed something big to upset my life so that I could find a new course.

Ameiko watched this all with interest and amusement (and possibly more the latter than the former), but she’s not in the habit of seeing people get hurt so she did wander over and offer some practical advice from her own experiences. That advice boiled down to: get to know everyone’s skills before you set out and put your lives in each others’ hands. Fair enough, and so we did. Note to Ameiko: the next time you give that speech, specifically add “and what languages you have in common” to the list.

We set out a couple of hours later for the Brinestump Marsh (who comes up with these names?), taking a fishing trail along the river delta to the shore. Ameiko told us of a halfling man who had set up a little home out there and established himself as the self-proclaimed “Warden of the Swamp”. If we wanted to get some information on the goblins, then perhaps that would be a good place to start.

It’s from his home, in fact, where I am writing this currently, and he has been gracious enough to offer us food and lodging for the night. But I am getting ahead of myself.

When we first arrived at the house we had been following two sets of footprints: one roughly child-sized (or halfling), and one human-sized. They led right to his home, and that is where events took a bizarre—and later, frightening—turn.

Qatana, Anavaru and Ivan approached the door (gods, Ivan is just a kid…what is he doing out here?) and, surprisingly, the Warden answered when Anavaru knocked. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see him and he did not look good: very ill, very tired and seemingly wounded. There was a brief exchange that ended with Ivan pushing his way forward to give some unsolicited healing. And then it got weird. Very, very weird.

Qatana…she just barged in. Literally. She just pushed her way in the door, without asking to come in, and without being invited. She walked right in his home and started poking around.

Everyone was in shock, especially the poor Warden. Except there was something about him that didn’t seem to fit. He was injured, and grateful for the healing, but he was also evasive and alarmed. Not because of Qatana or us, but because of something else. I like to think that this is what Qatana sensed and the reason why she did what she did, but I don’t know. Whatever her motivation, though, it set the right events in motion and it made me suspicious and the Warden increasingly uneasy.

So I cast a spell to search for magic, outside where I was out of earshot so as not to raise suspicion, and joined them in the Warden’s entry, under the pretense of helping to get a handle on Qatana and put the poor man at ease. What I was really trying to do was get a look around, myself, and what I saw gave me a bad feeling. There was no magic anywhere in the house except for the Warden himself. Not on him, but him specifically.

He was going on about being bitten by snakes, and having been poisoned (all of which clearly appeared to be true), and being afraid of snakes, and yet he lived in a house that was a habitat for snakes, and he kept feeder mice and birds. For snakes. And it did not add up. So we pretended to help by searching the house for more snakes while we kept the Warden under watch and stalled for time. I even asked Etayne to come in and look him over since witches know something of poisons and remedies, and thus she could put on a convincing show.

Eventually, I was able to determine that the magic around him was a faint transmutation of some sort, but I could not identify the source. So I called up to Qatana, who was searching the upstairs (“for snakes”). In Elvish, I said, “Qatana, I need you down here. I am detecting a faint transmutation aura on the halfling.”

And I was taken aback when our halfling friend replied, also in Elvish. “I am sure it was just the lingering effect of your friend’s healing spell”.

I felt a chill running through me. Any one thing on its own would be perfectly innocent, but all of this together created a picture that was just wrong. I could also feel the Warden’s unease, and it seemed we had started a dangerous game, with us knowing that something was up, and the Warden knowing that we knew, and we knowing that he knew that we knew, and so on. But neither side was ready to make the first move.

Then Etayne became severely spooked by something she saw, and she stepped out to call Olmas in. Under the guise of “you should stay down; you’ve been poisoned” and so on, he ensured that the halfling was sitting down and staying that way. This worked for a little bit but the Warden’s patience wore thin and Olmas had to get obstinate about it, and that is when our halfling host went from agitated to angry to hostile to violent. He leapt from his chair, ran upstairs with Olmas on his heels, and within seconds a lethal fight had broken out in the hallway.

We were not, in fact, talking to a halfling. We found the real Warden of the Swamp, one Walthus Proudstump, in a secret room on the second floor of his home after the fight was over. What we were facing was something called a “stalker”: a being capable of assuming the form of others, and both speaking and understanding any language. There are spells that can accomplish the latter two effects, but it would appear that these creatures do this continually. According to the real Warden, who we healed and tended to, they were created by the Old Ones. (Possibly as spies? I can think of no better purpose for shapeshifters who are instantly fluent in any language. But the Old Ones are long gone, so what is their purpose now?)

This one attacked Walthus and took his form. It’s not clear why. For the most part, Walthus says the snakes help keep them away (which means there may be more than one of them) but somehow this one was able to get to him when his guard was down—while we were playing cat and mouse with the stalker inside, Radella was searching the grounds outside and she came across signs of a struggle—and Walthus was nearly killed. He was able to get back into his house unnoticed and conceal himself in the secret room that the stalker did not know was there, ultimately saving his own life. The stalker, in the mean time, found that the snakes could tell the difference between the real Walthus and a copy, and he suffered numerous, venomous bites.

And that is how it came to be that I am spending the night in a small house in the Brinestump Marsh along the Soggy River. Walthus Proudstump, the halfling man who calls himself The Warden of the Swamp, was so grateful for our timely intervention that he served us dinner and gave us the use of his home for the night. He’s a good man. Perhaps a little eccentric, but a kind and generous man who is happy where he is and surrounded by the marshlands that he loves.

Sarenith 23, 4712 (Brinestump Marsh, Morning)

Last night was uneventful. Sparna, Radella, Anavaru and Olmas each took a two-hour shift on a watch. I had trouble sleeping, and spent the couple of hours writing. Nihali was uneasy as well, and I’d see her fidget and stretch her wings nervously. There was nothing specific bothering me so I guess I was just anxious about everything.

I don’t know Sparna well though he is a frequent visitor to Sandpoint. He has worked as a caravan guard for as long as I have known him, though whether he has done anything more than this I don’t know. Being a caravan guard is mostly about appearances and deterrence (something Ameiko taught me, and which I put to good use in Magnimar to keep the riff-raff at bay) and I suspect this outing is a welcome change for him. Perhaps a chance to actually use what he carries instead of putting on a show.

Radella is one of the new faces, a half-elf woman whose skills tend to towards tomb-robbing and thinking on your feet. Note: I am being diplomatic here. I have nothing against her, but I suspect neither mom nor dad would be likely to invite her to dinner.

I’ve always liked Anavaru and she was never unkind to me. It’s terrible what happened to her and her family. First her mom, and then her dad. Niska practically adopted them, and then Ana lost her, too.

Shalelu seems to know everyone in Varisia and Olmas is another one of her strays, this one a half-elf man. He seriously considered bringing a horse into a marshland. We actually had to talk him out of it. Where does she find these people?

Ivan, as I have said, is just a kid, too young to be properly concerned for his own safety. Another new face to me, but apparently close to Koya.

I remember seeing Etayne from time to time when I was younger. She’s a half-sister to Shalelu but I don’t know the circumstances (and it is not my business, anyway). She was not comfortable in town then, and she seems to be even less so, now. I can understand that. Witchcraft just isn’t trusted, especially in Varisia where superstitions flow like water.

This morning we are going back out to the Lost Coast Road so we can come in along a different path that leads to the goblin village. Walthus advised us against a more direct route through the marshlands. Apparently the “monster in the swamp” is real, and not someone’s imagination made legend through oral tradition. We saw a footprint yesterday—three toes in an alien arrangement—and Walthus said it belongs to it. “It has claws for hands and feet and its legs bend the wrong direction for a man,” he explained. “It’s jaws also open wrong.”

He said it was a fearsome creature that first appeared here maybe five years ago. And it sounds like something best left alone.