Tales from the Vale

An Account of a Common Disturbance

We had played at swords, my compatriot Marienburg and I, testing our skills on the bone-walking archers at the gates of old Ravensmoor, until my thirst for blood had eroded into a more mundane sort of thirst. Marienburg declined my invitation, choosing to continue his inquiries into reagants and dialectic, and so I entered the Fire Lotus Tavern with my scabbard polished and merriment on my mind. But at the first sight of the woman alone at the back table, hunched over a glass of Thomas S’s finest as if protecting either her drink or herself, I felt instead the pull of a different sort of adventure.

Her eyes are what startled me; they were at once guilty, furious, disbelieving, and wondering, as if a child’s eyes.

“Something appears to trouble you, milady,” I announced, swaggering as I inched down the bench opposite her, adjusting the décolletage of my battle dress. “

She scowled. “Why do you talk like that,” she asked. “Why does everyone talk like that?”

“If thou thinkst my speech overly polite, I’ll not apologize for graciousness to a lady,” I smiled, ignoring her refusal to play along.

“No, you can be polite. Sure. Go nuts,” she said. “I’m sorry. I feel out of sorts. I shouldn’t be here—”

I resolved to ignore the dread her words awoke in me, resolved to smile.

“It’s just I feel like I don’t know,” she said. “There were things I dreaded. Things I didn’t want to face. So I decided not to face them. And now I’m worried that I’m forgetting them, here.”

“Skeletons?” I asked. “If so, you’ve encountered the right—”

“There was a thing,” she said. “I don’t remember the word for it anymore. I don’t remember the word. It was a box with fire inside of it. Every night I spent with this thing. It made me feel less alone. And then it made me feel more alone. And then it brought me here. And now here I am, alone.” She bit her lip, hard. “I wish I could remember its name—”

At this my ears perked—surely the artifact accorded with old notions of a palantir, a seeing stone? The price such an item might fetch among the surreptitious fences of the Oracle’s researchers! But as I was on the cusp of inquiring more, my adventurer’s journal out to take notes, she stared at my face and saw something in my eyes I can’t understand. Her lip dropped—“You’re like me,” she gasped, “you all are”—she fled the tavern.

I would have followed, but harpstrings caught my ear—what, another song? This is what I’d come for, after all. So we raised glasses—we swore oaths—we toasted the health of British and sang, laughing the laughter of angels. And only at night—asleep under my Edelmann’s roof, between the thatch the impossible hurtling of broken lunar crags—did I feel cold.

 

Vyrinor I just want to say that I kind of love all of these stories of yours / your basic approach to this A LOT

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 19
The Same, Only Different

Day 132, post adventus

It takes a lot to drive me from my cottage. However, some days the traffic in and out of Owl's Head is so heavy, that the meandering sounds of humanity come uncomfortably close. Today, a parade of braying beasts, squeeky carts, and raucous conversations drove me south and east, toward quieter hills. It's a pleasant area where one quickly finds a secluded overlook opening onto the river valley. As I crested a steep rise, a stand of trees and dense undergrowth came into view flecked with gold and rust. Here, I realized, there would be a Fall. Back home, the early red sumac nags you with the reminder that August won't last forever. Here, the effect was reassuring. Things aren't always as different as they appear.

Yesterday, Lord Enmar had summoned me to dictate some letters. Mid sentence, Guard-Captain Dreyfus ran up the stairs.

"My liege, pardon the interruption." He struck his fist to his chest in salute.

"What matter brings you here?"

"The stable boy everyone calls Bit was killed just now."

"Did you summon a healer?"

"Yes, but they could do nothing to return him."

"Well how did it happen?"

"He was exercising one of the horses. It was spooked, threw him, and then trampled his rib cage."

"That's strange. Those at the stable are quite careful to avoid spooking the horses."

"The people at the scene told me that it was an outlander who did it, with magic."

"Well then you better take a few men and clear out the people from that area. Find out what you can."

"Sir, I already have Brent looking for any sign of foul play."

"If this was malicious, I want hard evidence, not rumors and innuendos, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now I know poor Bit was an orphan, and the stable master took him in. Please inform him that you will dispatch a guard to prepare the body, dig the grave and secure a marker. Please also convey my condolences and that I will attend whatever memorial he deems appropriate at sundown. Return with what he decides."

"Yes, sir."


When he had sealed the last of the letters and handed them to a guard to deliver, he turned to me. "Do you think you might come to the memorial tonight?"

"I didn't really know Bit, and have only seen the stable master from a distance."

"I think it might be good to have an outlander there."

It made me uncomfortable to be cast in this scene at such a tense moment, but of course I'm too softhearted too refuse.

"Sure."

"I greatly appreciate it."


As sundown approached I had no idea what to expect. I hadn't observed much in the way of religious custom here, and had only heard remotely of the passing of townsfolk. It turned out to be a small gathering, circled around the open grave and Bit's shrouded body. A group of teens peered out from behind trees at the edge of the graveyard. As we gathered in silence, I felt a strange sort of resentment. Immortality made most outlanders very callous about life, especially the lives of the natives here who weren't so fortunate.

The stable master looked down. "Bit never had much in this world. Wherever he goes, I pray that he's happy. He did well in this world by me, and by a lot of people. If that counts for anything, let it count for him now."

Lord Enmar clasped the stable master on the shoulder. Nothing else was said.

 

The Guard and the Lily (Part 2)

The day was rather humid for the season but all the while hauntingly familiar. When Randall was a young child his family was forced out of their home on a day similar. He could remember the sweat dripping down his father’s forehead as he tried to explain to him why they had to find a new home and why his mother was crying hysterically. But he also remembers not long after moving to a farm where his grandparents raised sheep and cleaned wheat for neighboring farmers in exchange for their water. Those were some of the happiest days of his life. That farm is where he learned his trade, learned to read, and met a sweet young lady named Gilly. And it all led up to this great moment in his life. He felt like he owed it to Gilly after all the time they’d spent together and all she had done for him. It was a rough day to be out in the sun but it felt good. Each time he’d stop to water the horse or take a break under a tree he felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. That is what really kept him going. He could imagine their faces upon his return home to Owl’s Nest. Gilly’s bright as the moon smile and flickering eye lashes. His humble mother steadfast in the kitchen reaching for a hug. His father grabbing his shoulder and welcoming him back to the farm. These thoughts continued to drive him down each and every stretch of dusty trail. He finally reached a point on the trail he recognized. An old cobblestone statue set atop a mound of dirt with a large gargoyle pointing toward the sky. He didn’t understand its meaning but would never forget the blank look in its empty stone eyes. He could smell fire as well which meant he was close to a gypsy camp. Gypsies were usually kind folk but have been known to get their heads listed on a bounty for various crimes. He had never experienced fear while his father chatted with them trail-side but knew not all men were kind. He knew dark would be coming soon and setting camp would be easier amongst a clan of gypsies. If he offered them a little coin or gathered firewood they would surely let him camp and eat and water his horse. He scanned the horizon for plumes of smoke and noticed it coming from the treetops near a tree line crossing the trail. Just as the horse started moving down the trail he heard a strange noise come from behind the behemoth statue. It sounded like a crossbow being drawn but he wasn’t as sure. As he peered around the statue a deep, cracking, voice yelled out “Stop there or you’ll get a shaft through the heart!”

 

THE CURSED MIND, by the Vagabond

To anybody who reads this,

I know that I've been cursed. All these seemingly unrelated people are all members of an underground Obsidian Order. I use to think the Obsidians were just a historical group, and nothing of any real significance, as you might have thought. I also never thought of myself as a conspiracy theorist.

This is where it gets weird. It began one day as I spoke with one of the guards in front of Owl's Head. He said I was an outlander, then he changed his mind. He smiled at me, turned his head, and then he looked back with a smile and winked. I looked in the direction that the guard turned his head. I looked closely, and scratch marks on the wall said, "The Order welcomes you". I thought it was just graffiti, but I kept noticing more small words in town on the walls. One said, "We are watching," and another said, "We are many". Every time I noticed these markings I had just been thinking about the Obsidian Order.

I went to the pub, and a new bartender I never met before served me a drink. I talked to him and he said, "Oh, I'm part of a new guild that came to town the other day. We need of some fresh minds to do some magical research." After saying this, he winked at me exactly like the guard at the front gate. He looked over at a table of four people sitting adjacent to me, and they all looked back and smiled. At this point I realized that it is possible that I'm being followed, and that these people were some how inviting me into their group, but trying to keep it very secret.

I was excited at first, but one day I made a huge mistake. I directly asked one of the people I thought might be a member of the Obsidian Order, if in fact they were a member of the Obsidian Order. They laughed and denied it, but looked at me with furrowed brows. After this people started looking at me strangely every place I went. I thought, maybe I made a mistake by being so direct. Perhaps a group like the Obsidian Order would want to keep their existence a secret I thought. Were they able to read my thoughts? I don't know. It seemed like everybody was against me, and that they were pushing evil thoughts into my head. I couldn't bare the anxious thoughts, so I left town and have lived on the streets ever since.

I know that these things seem like they could just easily be made up by my mind, but they aren't! It really happened, and it is unexplainable. I write this so that anybody reading this, will please watch out, they are all around us. My whole life was ruined. They made me look crazy so nobody would believe me. Just don't get involved.

this became a series so I moved them to another thread.
Obsidian Conspiracy?

 

SPIES WITHIN, by The Vagabond (Part 1 of 2)

Ever since my encounter with the guard, I've been encountering clues everywhere. Each day I keep thinking I'm closer and closer to joining the Obsidian Order, or whatever this is. They keep testing me and I keep clearly passing the tests. Some of it almost seems like hazing. Although I'm starting to feel a little confused as to who these people are because they are acting so secret, and indirect. The strange thing is my wife seems to know about everything going on. I don't know how, but she always has a smile on her face as if she were keeping something from me.

How could my wife have been a member of a secret organization and I never knew it? This has been fun so far, but now it is starting to get a little bit annoying. Just let me join, or have me meet somebody in a private room already! I'm tired of all this feeling out stage, why don't they just send a note to me telling me to meet some guy in a hooded mask in some private place, and initiate me already? That's it! I'm just going to pry a little with my wife.

When I returned home, I saw my wife busy as usual working in the garden which she always enjoys doing. This is one of the things I love about her. I greeted her with a kiss. I didn't begin asking questions all at once. But I began with simple indirect questions about me changing careers. I told her that I think I could do much better in a job that uses my mind, rather than working as a blacksmith. She agreed with me and gave me a smile. She said, “Don't worry, I believe you will find something soon that you will enjoy.”

This was the type of conversation we kept having off and on for the next few days. She obviously knows that the Obsidian Order is considering me as a recruit, but why is it taking so long? Why all this hidden stuff? I finally just got frustrated, and figured since she's my wife we can keep a secret. So I asked her plainly, “So when is it going to happen?” Then she replied, “When is what going to happen?” I replied angrily, “When are you guys going to let me know if I'm accepted or not?” She kept acting confused as if she didn't know what I was talking about, but I could always tell when she was holding something back. She is not a good liar. It was very clear she knew darn well what I was talking about. I started getting angry, and flat out said, “I know you are a member of the Obsidian Order, and I know you know they are trying to recruit me. Why the hell is this taking so long, I'm tired of this!”

To be continued....

this became a series so I moved them to another thread.
Obsidian Conspiracy?

 

SPIES WITHIN, by The Vagabond (Part 2 of 2)

She furrowed her eyebrows and said, “Are you serious?” when I continued she said, “You are really crazy, I'm taking our daughter and going to your parents house.” I could not believe her reaction. We were married for years, and we had a child together. How could she turn on me so quickly over something as simple as this? How can she choose them over me? She would rather protect the Obsidian's secrecy, than be up front with me. Then I thought, why is she going to my parent's house? Is it because they live closer than her relatives? Wait, what if she was going to go to my relatives and try to turn them against me, and make them think I was crazy too? I immediately saddled up and headed toward my parent's house as fast as possible.

When I got there my father greeted me, still a strong man, stopped me at the door and would not let me pass. I was talking a mile a minute trying to explain everything, but she already got to him. I tried to tell him that she was a member of the Obsidian Order, and she is choosing them over me. I was close with my father, I knew he would understand. He didn't understand though. Instead he acted cold toward me, and said, “Yeah, yeah, and the walls can talk to you, and they are always listening, Right?” At that point my heart almost stopped. How did he know about the messages on the walls, and one of the messages said they are always listening? I told nobody about that!

I told my father, “It is one thing for my wife to turn on me, but you are turning against your own flesh and blood. I'm your only son. You know me, and you would rather side with them? I don't know what they have over you, but this isn't right. This is the most evil thing I've ever heard of. Choosing an organization over me.” He wouldn't listen to a word and kept talking over me. He finally said he would call for the guards to have them throw me in prison for threatening his life. I NEVER THREATENED HIS LIFE!!! Why is he making this stuff up. This is all so evil. I HATE IT! I hope there is a God, or some type of force that will punish this evil. I DID NOTHING WRONG! I only made the mistake of speaking directly about the Obsidian Order. Any organization that would deliberately ruin the life of somebody in order to hide their secrets, is an evil organization! I hate this. They are all so passive aggressive, there's no way to prove anything!!! Anybody who reads this, this is only part of what I experienced. I will write more. Stay away from the Obsidian Order!


this became a series so I moved them to another thread.
Obsidian Conspiracy?

 

THE BIRTH OF AN AVATAR

The master spat on him. Dazed, Gerine gained his bearing and rose to his knees. Shaking like a battered dog, he was hoping there wasn’t another to follow. The familiar tickle of blood made his nose itch, unnoticed. Silence rang in his ears; the heavy drumbeat thudded at the tips of his nerves, from an accelerated heart. He did not have time to weigh the consequences of the events that followed. Through blurred vision, not from the attack, but from rage. He scrambled for something, anything. Ironically, his hand fell upon one of the knives from the place settings he had just gotten beaten over.

The rest was automatic; he had done it a million times in his head. Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Sacrifice, Spirituality, Humility, and Honor, this one would sometimes make his hand clench subconsciously. His master wore the colors of honor but was far from truthful or courageous. The beatings weren’t the issue but the hypocrisy was. He’d finish his ritual by always finishing with, “next time”.

This “next time” was the last time. His hand was warmed by liquid running over his air-chilled skin. With a final push of the knife he felt the virtues overwhelm him and he was finally at peace, no matter that this type of “crime” would mean sure execution.

The master violently gagged, spat, and gurgled his last breath of air. Thinking not of his life and passage into the netherworld, but of how his “honor” has been tarnished by the hand of a lowly servant boy.

Gerine bolted through the door, unable to take any worldly goods. He stepped into a crowded street, took off his servant cloak and hat, and filled his lungs with a deep-drawn breath of fresh air. And so his life finally began. When he became master, he had no servants.

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 34
Things That Go Bump In the Night

Day 240, post adventus

I awoke at midnight to the strange cries of something nocturnal. Even with all the time I had been here in the Vale, there were still some unfamiliar noises that I just couldn't sleep through. It spooked me a little, so I did what I always do when I need to feel safe and headed into the center of town. Of course, the only people up were the guards. But seeing that they weren't concerned about the stirrings of the local fauna (or worse) reassured me. Guard Stephen was on duty at the bridge. He knew me well enough just to give me a simple greeting.

I was cutting behind one of the shops by the stable for a more direct route up into the keep, when a sudden impact knocked me to the side. A young man fell in front of me as the contents of his pack exploded around us. He had rammed into my side and was completely winded. I was merely bruised. Adrenaline flowed and I leaped up. The blood pounded in my ears. No one else around. He can't do anything to me right now. No visible weapons. A lot of visible valuables. Coins. Jewelry.

"You better explain what just happened." No response. Getting a closer look at him, I realized it was the baker's son. No real threat, and guards within earshot.

"Look Rodden, I know you get up early, but not this early. What in this world is going on?"

Again, he only rocked back and forth trying to catch his breath. I decided I would start to gather some of the things lying about. He managed to wheeze out a stern, "Mine!" He tried to sit up, but fell back.

"I'm not taking anything here. I just want to know what it all is." I might have asked if he was ok, but I figured it was his to suffer the consequences of running in alleys on moonless nights. As I waited for his breathing to return to normal, I picked up at least 20 gold coins, a small fraction of what lie strewn about, a few silver rings, and one surprising pendant with what looked like a large emerald. The ground around us was sparkling with the reflection of distant torch light.

"Where were you headed at this hour?"

"To Kingsport."

"Can't you do that in the daylight?"

"No. I know this looks weird Mark but please don't call the guards. And please let me keep all this stuff. I need it."

"Why?"

"I've got to get to Lydia, she's in Port Graff."

"Who's Lydia?"

"She's the daughter of a jewelry merchant I met last summer. They came through the Vale to sell their wares. I've never seen anyone like her... far more beautiful than the girls here."

"So you need all these valuables for passage then... whose are they?"

"Mine!"

"How did you get things like this." I picked up a large gold bracelet.

"She gave them to me."

"Why would she do that?"

"When she was here we spent a lot of time together. Her dad was very kind. He liked me. Problem is he was not going to leave his daughter in the Vale, and my dad would never let me leave."

"Lydia and I hatched a plan that I would use the items to buy passage to Port Graff, once I could get things settled at the shop. I also had my own money from those who tipped me for deliveries."

"Well he does kind of depend on you."

"My sister is now old enough to handle it. And my other sister will be too before long."

"Look, leaving in the night to meet a girl you haven't seen in a year is not the best plan don't you think? What if she's moved on to someone else?"

Rodden looked down and scanned the ground, he picked up a folded piece of parchment. Opening it carefully he held it out for me to see. "Dear Rodden, I will never move on to anyone else. Please come soon!"

"A paid courier brought me this three weeks ago. I got two similar messages before this one. Her family can afford such things."

"Look, I don't know if it's easy to get over to Port Graff these days."

"I'm going to try."

"What will your dad do?"

"Please, please don't say anything. I left him a note. He will take it hard, but he will get over it. He knew I never really wanted to be a baker. Once I get settled, I will send him some things so he doesn't have to work so hard."

"Well there you go. Attractive and rich, huh? That's the one-two punch that knocks out most guys. You know, you might want to consider a backup plan. What if it doesn't work out?"

"Why wouldn't it work?"

"Alright then. How do you plan to sneak past the guards?"

"There are so many gaps in the pallisade right now, it's easy."

"Well you know I shouldn't do this, but, here, let me help you repack your stuff and send you on your way. If I ever make my way to Port Graff, I might need a place to stay."

"You got it. Anything, really."

"Well I hope it all works out for the best."

"Mark, I won't forget this."

"Perhaps. So long for now."

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 23 (Submitted)
No Means No

Day 170, post adventus

Tom stopped me in front of his Owl's Head manor. I was heading back to my place after picking up some supplies in the market.

"Hiya Mark. I was just about to lock up and head over to Jim's. But since you're here, let me show you a few things I've added to my collection."

"Ok." Seeing me seems to put my fellow outlanders into a show and tell mood. I've learned well how to hide a complete lack of enthusiasm.

"Come on in Mark. You can see my place is bursting, I'm thinking about buying the lot next door and tearing down the house so I can add on."

Weaving around two oddly placed wardrobes in his entryway, he led me to the left hand wall in the first room. Leaning against it was a large canvas framed in wood stained in faded crimson red. Walking up to it, he turned to me and extended his arms to the side, one up and one down as if this were a game show.

"Oh. Wow. So you're the one who bought that painting from Lord Enmar's office."

"How'd you know what it is?" His arms dropped in obvious deflation.

"Lord Enmar had me write the commissions to begin the repairs of the wall. He told me he sold the painting to pay for it."

"Yeah I gave him 5,000 gold just so he'd sell it to me right there before anyone else could come and bid it up. He was happy to get that gold."

"You're lucky to have it. That's an ancient painting and no one remembers the battle it depicts."

"That's the cool part. It's one of a kind. Who cares what it is... it's getting to be such a race these days to find unique things."

"You know Enmar only sold it because he was desperate for funds to repair the walls. Myra told me the town is divided over it. Half said he did what he had to do. The other half think it was a local cultural treasure that wasn't his to sell. You're also lucky that Enmar is honorable and didn't leak who bought it."

"Yeah? Well lucky for them we're here now. It's bringing about a local economic boom." He was right, Owl's Head had grown since we started arriving. So had the tensions.

"Besides I want people to know it's here and come see it."

"Don't you think some will be upset?"

"Well what are they going to do, kill me?" There was our new curious immortality, Tom had tested it, I hadn't.

"You know sport, you should really come with Jim and I on one of our treasure hunting expeditions. I've got several rumors to follow up on. We always come back with tons of gold and loot. These days though there seems to be more competition among our type. The opportunities are getting smaller and more remote. You gotta get something while the getting's good."

"I don't think so. It's not my style."

"What? You know we can learn new skills here super fast. Heck, Jim has learned how to shoot fire from his hands! That and the fact that we can't really die means all it is is a helluva good time."

As if to punctuate his point, he went over to the opposite side of the room and pulled a sword off a rack. He began a series of thrusts, perries and weaves that I had to admit were pretty impressive.

"You don't have to worry about a thing. I know all the weird beasts here can seem frightening at first but Jim and I will take care of you. You just tag along so you can get started on the fun."

"I think I really should be getting home, need to eat and hit the sack."

"You could come over to Jim's... he's paying one of the locals to make dinner tonight."

"I've got some work to do with a captain in Kingsport. I'll be leaving tomorrow, need to get up early."

"You know you're always welcome to stay here. I've got plenty of beds."

"I enjoy the solitude."

"Come on Mark! You've got to start living! Who knows why we're here but we've got it good. Take advantage of all the fun that's waiting to be had!"

"I'll think about your offer."

"You do that buddy. I'm headed to Jim's."

He seemed to immediately forget I was there, and walked out. I almost let my curiosity get the better of me. Wow did he have a lot of stuff. But instead I just left and enjoyed Daedalus rising in the clear dusk as I walked back home.

 

DUNGEON DELVING AND YOU – VOL III
Excerpt - THE DANGERS OF MIMICS

Being now versed in the importance of adequate lighting, food, water, weaponry and sundry adventuring supplies previously covered in this series the prospective adventurer may think himself ready to find one of the ancient mysterious crypts or dungeons littering these lands and haul out riches by the wagon-load.

I say to these eager fellows to hold thy-selves and mark my words on more subtle dangers to be found in the deep underground. Whilst true that these caverns may be inhabited by all many of beasts such as kobold, drake and satyr it is the nefarious mimic that has spelt the end to more nascent adventuring careers than all of these more obvious evils.

The mimic preys upon the avarice of men, remaining stationary and molding its dire appearance into that of a chest of vast riches, or barrel of mundane supplies. Still as a corpse it shall wait until prey doth approach too close whereupon it shall strike with alacritous speed! Beware for sharp claws and wicked dagger-sized teeth can rend through the thickest of mail in a single strike!

Yea but the greatest weapon in the mimics arsenal doth be surprising the unwary with a sudden unblockable assault. By spotting this chameleon ahead of time, one can turn the tables upon it with attacks from range.

Whilst exploring a ruin and coming upon a fine wooden chest sitting on its own in a room the prudent explorer should stop a moment and reflect upon the nature of the ruins he finds himself. Would it even be likely that a chest such as this be located thus? Who would keep a trunk in an otherwise abandoned cave?

There are yet further signs to ascertain the level of danger a found chest may imply. What state is the rest of the dungeon in which thou hast found it? Compare the state of said chest to that of the rest of the wooden furnishings found within. If the doors be warped with rot and yet the chest appears hardy it may yet be too good to be true.

Another grim indicator can be the remains of previous victims to the mimics hunger. A mimic shall eventually devour all portions of its victims corpse, bones and all. Yet metallic remains will be left behind. Finding a small bounty of arms and coinage beside an otherwise unremarkable chest can be a sign of a mimics presence. Attend that there are some creatures such as kobolds that well know this and will on occasion make effort to reclaim said items, thus clean surroundings should not be taken as safe by rote.

Lastly there are those that purport “better safe than sorry” and suggest firing an arrow at any chest found out in the wilderness. Perhaps this seems as paranoid to you gentle reader, but ask yourself if the cost of a single arrow is worth more than potentially your life?

 

Jarial's Magic Recipe
Some notes by Bronwyn

I've got all the bits !

Everything I need to make Jarial's Magic Recipe !

Oh, this is going to make me so much faster and stronger. I will be transformed into an instant hero flying up and down the King's Road, slaying the monsters and saving the trade caravans in no time ! I might even go further ! Not as far as that Shadow Wood place though. As well as wolves, I've heard that there's spiders as big as a cow wandering around in it !

Anyway, here is what I've got, just in case you want to have a go at making the recipe yourself :-

1) Some dregs of Scrattocks' "Old Clobber"
Luckily, I managed to get hold of this through my own clumsiness. I tripped over my own feet as I went running through the door of the Hearth of Britannia, and went crashing into a nearby table knocking the flagons of ale flying. Amidst shouts and insults hurled from all corners, I managed to snatch up a cup with a bit of the ale still in it, and made a speedy exit out through the window.

2) Some "Wasp Squeezings"
I was a bit dubious about this one, but I reasoned that the recipe needs a bit of power and spiciness ! As the Apothecary was showing me some of this stuff, I accidentally (on purpose) knocked over his bookshelf. Occupied with fussing over his precious tomes of herbal remedies, and calling me names that sounded most unnatural, he did not notice some of the "squeezings" go missing !

3) Horse Spittle
The amount of treats that I had to give old Smith in order to acquire sufficient of this was ridiculous ! That horse is going to get so fat I reckon his legs will snap !

4) A Dry Bun
Broken in half this will suck up the mixture nicely. Jarial calls this a "delivery medium". Sounds posh so it's bound to work ! And no, I don't feel guilty about going into the bakery and shouting, "THERE'S A GIANT RAT IN HERE !"

And now I am ready ! I will mix it up, eat it, and let you know how great I feel !


Oracle preserve us ! Everything's hurting really badly ! I reckon my poor belly's gonna rise up through me, leap out my mouth and escape ! When I find that Jarial, I'm going to kick him in the...

...

 

Field Observations for Thad Trowall, Tower Electrical field Apparitions Part 2


I regret to report that I have spent two miserable weeks in Owl’s head, with no sign of the apparitions or anything of that ilk. It has been a miserable rain soaked experience, which I hope will eventually lead to some findings of significance.

Although the weather has been bad, it hasn’t been as electrical as I believe it needs to be in order to trigger the phenomenon. As previously reported, the majority of the sightings have been during significant electrical storms. Perhaps this means that something in the storms reacts with the towers in some significant way.

My time in Owl’s head hasn’t all been for naught however, as I have had the chance to purvey some historical ledgers for the town. These ledgers discuss the construction of the towers as well as certain mishaps during their creation. The mishaps could very well be the cause of these apparitions; one such thought occurred to me that perhaps what people have observed is nothing more then echoes left from something that happened in the past. If that is the case, then what exactly befell the towers that caused something as mundane as people walking too and from the towers to be of significance?

Since all the reports were detailed and dated even, it allows me to create a historical timeline of events leading up to today. Now, how that will enhance my findings has yet to be determined, however it will allow me to sort information analytically. This at least made the last two weeks worthwhile, and not just because I have paid the inn keeper handsomely to accommodate me.

On that note, I realize now that I have not made it clear how my research is being funded and it is not my intent to obscure this detail. The benefactor has chosen to act through a beneficiary and provide me with enough funds to comfortably finance my research. He has made it clear however that he does not want to be personally involved in the operation or for me to even know who he is. This does concern me in the fact that I do not know his motivations in my research, though his hands-off approach helps to ease these concerns.

Tonight I will be sitting vigil in the rain, hoping for some sign that my trip here has not been in vain. I have high hopes since there is to be a storm tonight, the strongest since I have arrived. I hope to provide you with some observations soon.

Thad Trowall

 

A New Beginning

The ferry journey from Port Mirren to Kingsport was not especially arduous or taxing... under normal circumstances. However, the heavy weight of Rose’s new responsibility--and the precarious nature of her new life--was beginning to sink in.

Said new responsibility was huddled in a tight ball on the ferry deck, still refusing to speak or even look at her.

“I’m sorry, Hazel,” Rose said for what felt like the thousandth time. “With Grandfather gone, there’s nothing left for us back there. It’s just you and me now. We need to make some new friends, find a new home...”

Find a new job, she thought. Grandfather had been shrewd with the little bit of money they had, but with his sudden death Rose found that their funds were dwindling fast. He had wanted her to wait until she was a bit older to begin learning a trade, but that was no longer an option.

Hazel pulled her cloak around herself tighter and said nothing. Rose sighed.

When they finally arrived in Kingsport, Hazel refused to get off of the ferry until Rose grabbed her arm and practically dragged her to the dock. Hazel flailed, slapped, and pulled, but she was no match for her older sister. Rose gritted her teeth and tried to steer her into town when suddenly Hazel went completely still. The transition from struggling mass to slack weight was so abrupt that Rose nearly fell over. She caught her footing and followed her sister’s intent gaze.

A small, furry black animal sat on the dock, licking its paw then swiping it over its ear. Hazel was enthralled.

“It’s just a cat,” Rose said.

Before she could say another word Hazel had pulled out of her grasp and was on her knees in front of the cat. She extended her hand to the cat. It sniffed her hand, then rubbed its head against it. For the first time since Grandfather died, Hazel smiled. And for the first time in days, she spoke to Rose.

“Can we keep it?” she asked excitedly.

“I think that one probably belongs to someone already,” Rose said.

Hazel’s face fell.

“But,” Rose quickly continued, not wanting her sister’s sudden cheer to disappear so quickly, “Maybe when we get settled in somewhere we can think about finding you one of your own.”

Hazel’s smile returned. “Are we staying here?”

“No...” Rose said, looking around thoughtfully. Grandfather had told her stories about the Broken Anchor and the increased laxness of the Kingsport guards. Coupled with the peculiar sense of unease Rose felt just standing on the dock, she knew she did not want them to linger here long. “No, we’re going to Owl’s Head.”

“Isn’t that near the volcano? Where Grandfather said the hiding place was?” Hazel’s weeks-long sulk was suddenly forgotten. “Are we going to look for it? Do you think it’s really there?”

Warnings about the Broken Anchor certainly weren’t the only stories Grandfather had told them. They’d both grown up on fanciful tales of their ancestors, passed down since before the Cataclysm. Tales of great cities, of pirates and politics, of dragons and adventurers. Rose wasn’t sure she believed much, if any of it, but she knew one thing--

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said.

Together, they headed out the city gate and into the unknown.

 

The King of Sorrow

Shortly after entering New Britannia, the Avatar started to explore the island of Vale. In his journey to the South, the Avatar encountered an army of undead, lead by a vile Lich King. Finding himself wounded and overwhelmed after a restless battle, the Avatar managed to find refuge in a small cave within the mountains.

In need of healing, the Avatar applied some bandages and made a bonfire; which was when he realized that he was not alone in the cave. The fire's brightness had awakened a Dragon, whose powerful awakening roar had attracted the undead that where still seeking the Avatar. However, once they approached the cave’s entrance, the Dragon drove them away with a single breath of fire. As the Dragon turned his attention to the Avatar, he quickly reached for his sword, but once he gazed into his eyes, he slowly dropped it. It was a Dragon like no other; his eyes were full of sadness and grief.

The Dragon, then alone with the Avatar, could have killed him; yet, he brought him some meat and introduced himself as the “King of Sorrow”, for all he knew was melancholy and sadness.

“Thank you noble Dragon”, said the Avatar with a gentle bow, then asking: “Why are you grieving?”

To which the Dragon replied: “A lifetime ago, there were many of my kind, but when the moons shocked and brought down an inferno to the lands, I saw all of my brethren pass away; I became alone, lost and forgotten. Some inhabitants of this island wanted to kill me, so I confined myself to this cave because I did not want to harm them.”

The Avatar, feeling pity for the Dragon, gave him some of the meat he had roasted, making the Dragon rejoice from such compassionate act.

“Very tasty!” – the Dragon responded, but suspiciously asking: “Why are you being kind to me when most fear and attack me?”

The Avatar stood up and said: “I have come to restore the Virtues on these lands, dear friend. I sense no evil within you, only undeserved grief.”

Surprisingly, the Dragon shed a tear, asking, in a saddening tone: “You have called me a friend…?”

The Avatar approached the Dragon, and gently patted him on his enormous face, kindly saying: “Yes, I am your friend, and I will journey throughout these lands in search for other Dragons; if I find any, I will tell them where to find you.”

Suddenly, the Dragon’s expression changed, his eyes held sadness no more. He exited the cave, opened his wings, and raised himself to the skies unleashing a deadly firestorm that vanquished all of the undead; so the Avatar could safely return to the North.

The Dragon then quietly sat beside the Avatar, telling him: “Part ways in safety my friend, for you have restored hope to one who had lost it for so long.”

Smiling, bidding farewell to the Dragon, the Avatar carried on with his journey.

 

The Private Life of Philippe Marienburg, Part 1

I always try to be calm and keep a tight rein on my emotions, but something was making me angry. The land was clearly in the grip of a metaphysical evil, yet everywhere I turned I saw complacent, indecisive men and women, running up and down the road of Owl's Head doing nothing, their conversations filled with mundane gossip about how to acquire various magical and/or non-magical goods--as if the acquisition of mere wealth was the reason we were called to be in this world.

The only one who agreed to accompany me to the gates of old Ravensmoor was someone named "Caramella la Sorce." This was a woman with dead, cynical eyes, but also, I told myself, an evil charisma and an energetic way of brandishing her axe that made her a useful temporary ally against the legions of undead.

When we got there, the skeletons were so powerful as to be a match for even my considerable swordsmanship. No matter which way we hewed, they kept bashing at us with short swords, morningstars, even bows. Even their archers were so tough that they would keep shooting at us when we approached them in melee until we were pierced with arrows on all sides, like (I imagine) the glorious martyrs of old.

The cynical woman quickly tired of hardship and glory, and departed to resume whatever sordid activities she engaged in normally--probably spreading more of her feel-good, optimistic lies, with their undercurrent of psychic death, back at the tavern in Owl's Head that everyone is always going to instead of purifying body and soul in endless spiritual combat.

If I let myself think about all that stuff again, it would make me angry, but at that point it didn't matter. I thought about how the nickname for this place was the "Throne of Bone." I thought of how awesome and sweet it would be to sit on the bones of a man bleached pure and clean by the harsh and pitiless passage of time, of history. It is pretty awesome how history scours away all the vagueness and ambiguity of individual experience, the weakness of individual souls, and leaves you with just the purity of the act.

 

Removed all non-English and am resubmitting.


Stray Arrows

(begin chorus)
Whoa-oh hey-o
We-e-e travelled down
Whoa-oh hey-o
Climb on out
Whoa-oh hey-o
Darkness is coming, the way is lost
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out
Stray arrows screamin’ on out
(end chorus)

Me and Harky, Av, and Savi
Were headed down into the ground
Weapons, Spells, Bows n Arrows rattlin’ around
We pulled the Triple to the ready
Fired it towards the shadows
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out

(begin chorus)
Whoa-oh hey-o
We-e-e travelled down
Whoa-oh hey-o
Climb on out
Whoa-oh hey-o
Darkness is coming, the way is lost
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out
Stray arrows screamin’ on out
(end chorus)

Quick to the flank he ran alone
The shadows dark, the wind did blow
As he dealt his undead foe a mortal stroke
From the shadows he got wounded
Shortly after he was grounded
Stray arrows screamin’ on out

(begin chorus)
Whoa-oh hey-o
We-e-e travelled down
Whoa-oh hey-o
Climb on out
Whoa-oh hey-o
Darkness is coming, the way is lost
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out
Stray arrows screamin’ on out
(end chorus)

Hours and hours walkin' the dark
We grabbed our friend had to head back
Me and Savi we started climbin'
Lost breathing a dank dead smell, we'll need some air
Seemed forever 'til the sun was shinin'
But by then our hero wasn't drawing breath

(begin chorus)
Whoa-oh hey-o
We-e-e travelled down
Whoa-oh hey-o
Whoa-oh hey-o
Climb on out
Darkness is coming, the way is lost
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out
Stray arrows screamin’ on out
(end chorus)

Alas now we've lost our good friend
To dark we'll put an end
Everybody grab your virtue
Cause the Ether's gonna blow
Tell the darkness when we see it
It'll be the next to go
Yeah, we're goin' to the darkness
And then we'll lay 'em low

(begin chorus)
Whoa-oh hey-o
We-e-e travelled down
Whoa-oh hey-o
Climb on out
Whoa-oh hey-o
Darkness is coming, the way is lost
Stray arrows screamin’ on out, out, out
Stray arrows screamin’ on out
(end chorus)

 

Tablets

The inscriptions were in a language that Lucas did not recognise. Apart from those strange hieroglyphics the surface was mostly featureless, save for two tiny glass insertions near one end.
He turned the small, smooth tablet over and examined the front. Some craftsman had gone to considerable effort to seamlessly insert a glass pane in the other side, although the reason for this was a mystery.

“It’s a smartphone” said the Traveller, apparently suffering from the misconception that this description was in some way helpful. “You can surf the net, play games, all sorts of stuff.”

Lucas was having difficulty understanding how this small tablet could be a useful aid to fishing, although it could possibly be part of a board game of some description.
“Where is the rest of the set?” Lucas replied.
“Unfortunately I left the charger behind” replied the Traveller.
Lucas imagined a small carved figurine depicting a jousting Knight, and was disappointed that the rest of the game was missing. Still, what he saw had a certain novelty value, and would make a fine conversation piece.

“I’ll offer you two carrots for it.”
“Done!” replied the Traveller.

EDIT: Oops. I did not realise that submissions had ended. I shall post no more.

 

If you enjoy writing...keep writing.

 

Oh I intend to. I won't post here though - oh damn, I just posted here.