Tales By The Fire

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  • Karnivor

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  [Static] I should stop to record, for time out here in the desolace slips away like sand. The work consumes me, at once slow yet in repetition swift, one day blending into the other. I do not mind repetition - it is familiar, almost soothing, the type of daily routine which used to govern my existence. Perhaps this should concern me, but the difference is key: I act out of choice, with reason and feeling guiding me. Nothing compels me and above all else, nothing denies me being me as I work to set things right. I would set things "right" before, too. Locate anomalies, root them out, restore harmony. That harmony was a lie, but balance is not. I am attempting to restore the network of green, where it has been distorted and twisted. Bones scatter the ground. Skulls peer up from the sand. This bothers me not, but a withering web of [red] permeates the ground from a central fortress of sorts, half in ruins. The negative energy is bitter, but green can counter it, the balance restored through means I master. Life is spread thin out in the desert, though. I move like a weaver, across the vast to this node, then that, spinning my green yarn. A spider skin would be fitting, but for some reason I cannot yet become spider. Nor can I work the green without my people hands, although I feel it all the stronger in other skins. No matter. All it requires is time and effort. But there is another distortion here, stronger as I move further from the fortress ruins. In scattered areas, in a strange pattern I can not yet decipher, the network is completely twisted. All structure is lost. It disturbs me violently each time I get close. Green and red are opposed, yes, but they are also one another's counters. That makes sense, but this does not. This is a ringing in the ears, a sickened twist to the gut, black dots dancing across one's vision. It is [static], malfunction, a system collapse. Life is twisted, around these nodes. A crag cat stalked by in the night, whiskers replaced by swaying tentacles. A gecko peered two heads up at me, at noon. George spoke of this, of the [Far Realm], of a breach in the planar fabric here. Of undead holding down the fort in defence, alongside the living. I do not yet know how to repair the points of [static]. I tried to bolster life around one such spot, grew hardy thorned bushes to contain it. The vegetation twisted and morphed, animating into something I have no word for in this tongue or any other. I burnt it with fire. A lot of fire. Perhaps, until I find a method that is effective or until time itself has performed the task, clearing these patches of land from life is the best I can do. But I wish to do better. I continue trying. Mostly I fail. The crag cat's tentacled whiskers, I removed and regenerated, only to have them come out the same way. Should I leave them this way, accept the anomaly? Do I need instruction, a teacher, for the right repairs? I've considered turning back, but something keeps me here. There is something to learn, and the repairs to the negative energy imprint are effective, if time consuming. My words come slow though, as I put this down, rusty from poor maintenance. And should Radomir find me out here, I am at a disadvantage, so far from my allies. But just now, a desert fox flits by with three ears. I cannot stop yet.
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  Annulus Conflagrus - The Ring of Fire
  • Darkpowder

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  The Seventh: Favour first those who do show respect and tithe to the faith of the firelord, but show the renewing aspect of fire first to those not of the faith as the priority of the disciples of the phoenix. :: Vertus remarks first in a quiet moment by the fire in the Mermaid to himself only :: "The lawful resolution of the knights of the cleansing flame is challenged at all times by the ever changing and chaotic nature of what crosses one's path, but so must it also be said that this is a test of the brotherhood..,.. But what a find i have made.. it is truly a sign of greatness to come" :: Vertus then emerges, and speaks in public, close to a collection of braziers lit as usual to ward off the chill of the night.. his countenance bright with the fervor of his faith, speaking with some charisma to compliment his muscled frame :: Soon friends! Soon there will be a great surprise and reckoning of the enemies of the faith, but until then see the bounty of the firelord brought forward for you all. While i need little for he sustains me, the toil and costs of our lives in this city drain away warmth from our fire, and coin from our purse no matter how hard we work... Am i right friends? :: he remarks as he hands out cooked meats and hot bread and pastries from the ovens of the mermaid to those outside:: To those brave enough to seek to venture from the city to put an end to the enemies who threaten us, the undead... :he pauses with dramatic effect: the unknowably evil, the orcs, the kobolds.. the list goes on... I say this to you. Seek me out, Vertus, knight of the cleansing flame and fear not the fire of your enemy, and may your weapon blaze with the fire of Kossuth, as you break through the lines of your enemy. I'll be there at the borders of the enemy waiting for you to set your weapon afire with the divine heat of the firelord. Not for an extortionate cost, and not only to the faithful of the firelord. No, but to all. Walk through their fires with impunity, laugh at their magics, and watch them run from your blades of fire. Save for the sloshing damp steps of those who follow Itishia who would rather see you all in a watery grave so long as their rivers and coasts are clean, preferably without the rich trade of your boats. Will i refuse your donations, or even a tithe from the faithful. No of course not, but you need not unless you are inspired to strike down your enemies once you feel the power of the fire in your hands. Soon friends, he pats a huge and heavy wrapped package on his lap. Soon we will see a reckoning to the uncaring and cold waters, soon even the coral and the weeds of the sea will crave the warmth, nay.. the cleansing and joyous hearth and blazing brazier we all stand around thankful for it...
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  Vin Domne's secret notes
  • Gonnar

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  //updated.
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  The Mystery of the Eye by Isolde Garibaldi
  • Karnivor

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  Aftermath One by one, like pearls on a string, we came tumbling out through the shimmering green veil of the portal, finding Horgrim's black-cowled figure chanting, our steadfast anchor to the prime, back to home and hearth and loved ones waiting. The ogre was visibly weary, relieved at our return though his glowing green eyes kept scanning for a smaller figure in our midst. Aesso - the sparkling girl who chose to make an ogre her friend, who treated him like a person and cheerily strong-armed the rest of the adventuring band into accepting the starkly rational-minded mage who fit in nowhere else. Horgrim had done all this for Aesso. But the girl who stepped out of the portal, last of all and with an awkward shuffle and confused expression - she was not Aesso. Sarah Snow mumbled timidly, bewildered as she looked around to each and everyone of us without any sign of recognition: 'Where am I?' The last that she remembers is crawling up in bed, in her simple inn room after that disasterous performance. She fell asleep and she dreamed - she had the strangest dreams… Sarah frowned now, rubbed at her eyes as though she had only just woken up, noticing Horgrim with startled apprehension. I introduced them quickly and then let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding: at least she hadn't screamed - I think it might've broken Horgrim's heart if she had. The ogre mage gave Sarah a long stare, mumbled disappointedly and then turned abruptly away. With the briefest of farewells, he made his departure, teleporting off to brood on his loss. And it 'is' a loss that the amazing, wonderful, willful and bubbly Aesso will never again walk in our midst, stir trouble and create marvellous, wildly creative and chaotically whimsical things. Aesso truly was Amazing - but she is never truly gone. Not while we still remember. A miraculous gain however, a wonderous marvel that we hoped, but could never have counted on achieving, was rescuing Sarah Snow. 'Do you know Sarah Snow?', asked Aesso with a quivering sob in her throat, Silvia the Fey shaking her leafy head. She didn't know Sarah, no one did - but now, we've all been granted that opportunity. Aesso wanted so badly to know who Sarah was, ached to remember, just as I ~know~ Sarah Snow yearned with all her heart to find out what she could really do, what she might show the world if she became all that she could be, through Beeble's deal. But the two can never meet, they're forever separate like two sides of the same coin. I like that simile quite well, I think. I like to imagine that Aesso isn't lost - we've just flipped the coin because it's Sarah's turn to shine now, to make friends and stir up her own version of amazing, whatever that turns out to be. Heads and tails are both just as good, just as wonderful in their own right - only different. And at the center of the coin, within the metal that glues the two sides together, beats the same sweet, kind heart. We set Sarah free from her most painful memory, cheered her on when the crowd was full of jeers and boos. And that's exactly what we need to keep doing now. Just like with Tristyn, pulling someone out of dire straits is not enough - to truly rescue a person in need, you have to keep being there for them. It's not always about surviving the epic fights, but the stumbling blocks in our daily lives. To be offered a hand when life drags you down, a shoulder to cry on - that is as much of a rescue, of just as great importance as braving the proverbial dragon. Perhaps the most important lesson I take with me from the story is this - the importance of kindness and care, of laughter and joy, friendship and love and all things bright and beautiful that not only enhance our lives, but actually build us up and makes us stronger. That, not strength in arms or might in magic, is what allowed us to do the impossible.
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  The Conspiracy
  • Kayleb

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  ((Bumping for possible recent IC relevance. While previously contained in privately held documents, Marty is sharing this information publicly, and with Peltarch's press.)) EDIT: Also fixed up the old links to other forum posts that were broken. They should now lead to the actual form posts they are referring to. This is so anyone investigating the validity of these statements can see that they are on the public record.
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  The One True Way ....
  • Kayleb

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  Written shortly after the destruction of the temple in Oscura. The ant hill washed away by the rain, the ants perish house of worship in ruins, the "faithful" scatter. . It is better to build a house on stone than on shifting sand. is better to accept the void, than it is to grovel at the throne of false gods.
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  The Iconoclast
  • Flom

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  The Princess Jorino has declared the Seafarer Guild an enemy of the Crown, in a public paper. This follows a lock-down of the Docks district, again through the Princess' Defender Regiment, and again the point of which was to disrupt Seafarer business. I asked Jessica Whyte how she intends on addressing the issue. "It's already being taken care of," she replied. I feel a bit unnerved by Jessica. She seems different. I can't help but wonder about her lanceboard scheme, and those pieces she knocked down. A symbol for death, surely. But then I remember she is no killer. She is cruel, yes, but not a killer. I know this, because I have known her since she was a small girl. Today I thought I heard Jessica speaking with someone in her office. I entered, silently, and I swear I saw someone - a small figure, cloaked in a rather regal, expensive, rare looking cloak, but... When I squinted to confirm my sight, there was nothing. And Whyte, of course, was silent. Staring at me. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Nothing," I replied, and left. I was sure she was was talking to someone... Reyhenna Jorino, it seems, has left the military. It happened so quickly I can't fathom how. She published her venom in the papers, this time directing it to the Bank of Peltarch. And then apparently a crowd of rioters attacked the bank. Following this, a military tribunal was held, in which a littany of Jorino's military misdeeds were conjured up. Apparently her regiment, which is far too large for the current General Sally Williams, is to be split up. Rather than let that split happen, Jorino decided instead to defect from the military and create her own mercenary company. I asked Whyte what she thinks of all of this. Surely, I suggested, she must be happy that her opponent Jorino has been defanged so. She smiled, and simply said: "Yes, it's a step in the right direction." The Magistrate Shannon d'Arneau has apparently convinced the Regent Damian Fisher to raise taxes in a manner that specifically targets the Seafarer Guild's generous rates. And apparently the Regent's daughter, along with the Royal Council - Roslyn Underhill, Jonni Aelthasson, Isolde Garibaldi, and others - support the maneuver. Naturally, Jessica Whyte is most displeased. Again I asked her what her plan was to settle the issue, or re-negotiate with the Crown. And again she replied, "It's being taken care of." Today, for the first day in a long time, Jessica Whyte was her old self again. At least, she felt the same way she did before, some several years ago. She even confided in me. She told me she was hesitant about her plans. A vaguery, to be certain, but I welcomed her approach, even though I had no idea what her plans might be. "Perhaps you should revisit your plans," I counselled her. "Perhaps," she conceded. "Perhaps I can help?" I suggested. "Let's go for a walk," she said. We walked then to the pathway to the East, leading to the Royal Estates. I heard Princess Jorino spent most of her time there these days. A curious destination, I thought. Surely she was not going to visit the Royals, let alone the Princess. Then of course we found Princess Jorino, walking along this path, with her companion, the beautiful Isolde Garibaldi. Again I am left breathless at the sight of this Bardess. We were luckily stuck in the rain together. All four of us (myself invisible), plus Whyte's assistants. Under a canopy from the walls nearing the pathway. I was distracted by the beautiful Isolde. When I finally regained my senses I noticed, and I believe, Jessica was trying to tell them something. She was turning around an issue and I could see, finally, when I looked Jessica's way, that her eyes flickered the manner they do when she tries to muster the courage to explain something embarrassing. I confess, however, I have not seen her this way since she was much younger. I remembered then that Jessica Whyte and Reyhenna Jorino used to cooperate, not so long ago. Prior to the Docks Union debacles, they were rather closely aligned on certain issues. It was at that point that the beautiful Isolde Garibaldi surprisingly remarked about Jessica's teeth. Isolde pointed out how yellow and ugly Jessica's teeth are. It is true that ever since she began to smoke tobacco and pipeweed, Miss Whyte's teeth have grown yellow and indeed it has not helped her complexion either. The contrast between the gorgeous Bardess Isolde Garibaldi, and the rather dishevelled Jessica Whyte was so glaringly obvious in the moment that I felt rather awkward. It certainly reminded me Miss Jessica is most physically unappealing. In particular, when compared to the miss Garibaldi. It is painfully clear. And the assistants all saw it, too. Many of them tried to hide smiles because it was amusing I suspect to see such a contrast between the hardened Jessica Whyte and the very pretty Isolde Garibaldi. I believe I heard one of them stifle a laugh. At that point Jessica's eyes stopped flickering. She had an assistant show her a mirror, to inspect her teeth. Then she shut her lips and fell quiet. She stared ahead, and waited. She waited for the rain to end. And when it did, we moved along in the opposite direction. Away from the Royal Estate. And away from the Princess, and Miss Garibaldi. "Where were we going, again?" I asked her. "Just for a walk. We're going back home," she replied. Since that day, I have not seen Jessica Whyte smile with her teeth again. Today, I saw Jessica pacing in her office. She seemed most reluctant to proceed with or talk about whatever it is she is concerned about. She fell silent for a time. I noticed, out the window (note that her office overlooks the docks), the Princess Jorino, standing alone by the pier. "There is the Princess," I remarked, candidly. "She's early," Jessica replied, to my surprise. Early for what, I wonder? Was Jessica even expecting her? I wondered, indeed. Not for long, though, for Jessica immediately reached for her coat and made her way out of the building to speak with the Princess. I followed her, stealthy and as invisible as always. When she finally met with the Princess, Jessica had the same look in her eyes as she did the few days before when we were stranded in the rain. Hesitation. I am convinced she wished to confide something to the Princess. Perhaps even ask for her assistance. Then the Princess remarked, "You are nothing to me, Jessica Whyte." "You are irrelevant. You are an absolute nobody, who will never do anything worthy of anyone's memory, anywhere," the Princess continued. "You are so far beneath me I cannot even see you," Princess Reyhenna Jorino concluded. I could see that Jessica's face was growing red at this. Out of embarrassment, surely, for I certainly felt embarrassed for her at the stark words. Then, however, after a minute or so of this, Whyte seemed ... almost relieved, in my eyes. She grew quiet, and unnaturally calm. Eventually, Whyte simply replied: "Thank you." Then we left. Today it was announced that Triloquist was the real culprit behind Lorrin Wilkes' murder. I remembered Whyte's lanceboard, in which she used the "T" piece to knock over Lorrin Wilkes. "T." The same letter which begins the name "Triloquist." The name of the one behind Wilkes' death. I am gravely unsettled. I must speak with Jessica about this. I was on my way to ask Jessica about Triloquist and Lorrin Wilkes' murder. That was when I saw Jessica meet with a strange man. The man was unknown to me. And yet, he seemed to know the entire layout of the Seafarer Headquarters. He walked in and appeared to treat the place as though it were a quaint cottage on a riverbank that he used to visit when he was an infant. He had a small, gray beard, and wore a businessman's clothes. He was quite adept at conversation, given his interactions with the clerks and staff. When the staff asked for his name, he didn't give one. No one seemed to recognize him and this appeared to amuse the man, as though he recognized them. Whyte, however, did know him. Indeed she appears to be the one who invited him in. This time, I decided to not only be invisible, but also to avoid Jessica Whyte's notice. I made sure that, even though she quaffed a potion of invisible sight, I nevertheless used my natural stealth to avoid detection. I dropped eaves on the conversation. The man told her that he escaped from another realm, and only recently returned. The man seemed to know all it was that Whyte had been up to in recent times. The man then congratulated her on what he called her "successes." The man asked her about Lorrin Wilkes, and asked whether she was the one who set the events leading to his death in motion. Whyte seemed almost proud that the man was even asking. She did not deny it. Then the man indicated that he admired Jessica's tenacity, and in particular, her plan involving a one Mister Elias Frogmouth. He asked her to confirm that she was indeed the one behind Mister Frogmouth. Again, she did not deny it. The name Elias Frogmouth immediately brought me back to the lanceboard. The lanceboard, which Whyte used to explain her plan. Her plan which, when stripped to its bare minimum, was a plan for murder and for war. It dawned on me, as I listened to the two speak, that Whyte has been and continues to be cooperating with Triloquist. I realized, then, that she must have used Triloquist - convinced him somehow to act against Wilkes and, indeed, to act against her other enemies. It further dawned on me that Wilkes was dead, and that Whyte is the main beneficiary of that death. It dawned on me also that the lanceboard was a plan to plunge Peltarch into war. I remembered all of those pieces, organized and cajoled by Elias Frogmouth. All those pieces, coming to Peltarch and then Jessica Whyte knocking over those pieces that represented the royal family. All those pieces, knocked over. And the "J.W." piece standing in the center. I immediately snuck out of the room. I was on my way out of the Seafarer Headquarters. I was on my way to the Magistracy, to the Crown, to anyone - to let anyone know - when I suddenly froze. I could not move. Though I willed my muscles to obey and run, they could only rebel. And stand perfectly still. At that point, a -different- man, an elderly man, far older than the one Jessica was in the other room speaking to, approached me. This elderly, different man had blue eyes, and wrinkled skin, wearing a black hood and cowl. It was as though no one else in the Seafarer Headquarters could see him but me. He was very obviously a spellcaster of some sort. He wore around his neck a small horned symbol on a simple string that I could not quite make out. I recognized him. From before. I had seen this man here a year ago at least. He smiled at me so indifferently that I knew he meant me harm. And yet I could not shout, or yell. Or even run. This different man then walked into the room in which both Jessica Whyte and the other man were speaking. Shortly after, Whyte exited the room, alone, and ordered the Seafarer Guards to take me away. I have been placed in a prison capable of containing a mage. I tried to escape, but the prison nullifies my magic completely. And I never was one for brute strength. Nor was I ever one for picking locks. She came to visit me only once, since. "Did you think I wasn't having you watched?" Jessica asked me. I didn't know what to say. Then I remembered her lanceboard scheme, Triloquist, and Elias Frogmouth. "I didn't think you were capable of mass murder," I remarked, bitterly. "Then after all these years, even you don't know me," she replied, her tone so cold I shivered. Before she left, she had the mercy of leaving me with my book and a quill with ink. "To write in, so you don't get bored," she said. "It isn't as though anyone will read it." Old, odd men and women in black robes and cowls whisper to the elite and the powerful. Strangers that I have never before met appear to know more about this city than people who have lived here all their lives. I re-read this book, and the pages I have documented and I know that something is amiss. Yet my disappointment in Jessica Whyte has overcome my fear for the future. I don't feel like writing, anymore. I don't feel like much of anything. [DM Xanatos Gambit] [Plot Finale - The Iconoclast.]
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  Arrath Duskdane - Inner demons
  • Gonnar

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  Arrath had spent the last day in bed, feverish and not feeling well. The itching had been worse, or so she thought, and she had spent all night trying to ignore it out of sheer will alone. Not very succesfully. At some point during the night, the itching stopped, and she fell asleep. She woke up, freshly, and dressed herself in some comfortable robes. While she was doing that, she looked at her arm, hesitantly. Nothing different. She looked at her other arm, to compare. Nothing strange. Wait... She flexed her "healthy" arm. Arched a brow in surprise for a moment, but shruggd, finishing dressing up and just heading down to get some food from the innkeeper. Once she arrived to a table, she tried to call the waitress attention by waving her hand. It was too crowded, however, and she wasn't noticed. She tried again, this time with a potent voice "Ey, Waitress, here". But the Inn was too noisy too, and her words were buried by the laughter and shouts of adventurers and drunk workers. Annoyed, she slammed her hand against the table. It broke apart. She startled, as if that result was unexpected. She definitely didn't hit it that strong, did she?...
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  Looking at the world sideways: Vick Blake
  • Darkspyr

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  Smoke on the Water Even after weeks the city still smelt of fire and rot. Rubble lay scattered, though the bodies had been removed. The walls were being repaired. People drifted back into a semblance of normal but moved quickly and purposefully and did not stay out much at night. Even the laughter from the pubs is subdued and forced. Smokes legacy remained, even after all these years. Distrust and division sewn deep into the fabric of the city. All parties vying for power and wealth. Many of the players were the same, only a few new faces. No one accepted blame for anything, just finger pointing and surges of violence, writhing like maggots in a corpse. Even Triloquist was but a symptom of the issue. So many areas of attack left open to any that cared to try. The lizard kin were some of the first scavengers to come and try for a piece of the victim. A tentative thrust at best…..testing. He sits on the roof of the City Hall watching and listening. For 3 decades he had done such, roaming the streets and alleys, rooftops and gables. But now it felt different, more broken, more raw then ever before. And the question finally arose: was it even worth trying to save anymore? King George would be spinning in his grave if he had seen this. Everything he had worked so hard on torn apart and set on fire. Too many people to close to the problems and none willing to step back and see that they themselves are a part of it. He looks up into the darkness of the night and wonders when outside forces will make their next move. With the major powers in the land crippled and Peltarch tearing itself apart, the enemy moved freely within the lands. Soon, yes, not much longer now. Would it be like the histories he read of Jiyyd, could be.
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  The Witnessed Victories of The Mad Heroine over Inanimate Objects
  • Goddess of Spite

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  https://youtu.be/BoLGsgZTnjk Episode 2: Magnet Trick She held onto the seat and sat with all her might while the chair dragged around the floor- like how a child can manipulate certain utensils with a magnet under a table. It bucked the woman onto the tavern floor of the Witch and Seer and she now paces back and fourth, keeping an eye on her opponent with much distrust. The Chair had already proven itself when it tried to sit on Jonni, who didn't let this ruin an abnormally casual evening and promptly left Raazi to deal with the wooden fiend. Raazi paces left- The Chair follows her as warriors do just before they commit to battle. She paces right and then left like an athlete trying to fake out her opponent. The Chair doesn't fall for such juvenile tactics and slides directly onto her toe! This happens several times until she is finally stubbed into submission and cowers on top of a table, nursing her little piggies with a very seriously needed potion while The Chair just sits there, watching her like a predator waiting for its prey to slip.. Moving very purposely and quickly, she retaliates and knows where to grab for potions as the assault resumes, casting invigorating spells until her eyes were misting with neon red energy. The two went toe-to-leg for a while till finally a sword was drawn to end the incessant bruiser. The Chair sat for a moment to gather its wickedness which left Raazi with just enough time to slam her bronze xiphos into it hard enough to start a crack that she quickly exploited by hacking it in twain and then into little pieces and then also into the tiny bitty pieces and so on and so fourth.... ~The bartender not only had to deal with Jonni's hilarious sass that night, but also a great deal of Raazi's mess too which included many spilled drinks, pastries, flipped chairs and her hangover the next day. At least no regulars were frightened away during the spectacle and Raazi always over pays during her stays because she hates low denominations of currency.
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  Eve's Diary
  • Karnivor

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  The caravan is half-way towards Blackbridge as the first evening stars glint upon a clear autumn sky, fresh and crisp with a bite of frost already hanging in the air. Huddled at the back, using the last of the natural light to write inbetween bumps in the road, is Eve, her brow creased underneath the dark blonde fringe. As the light fades, she puts her journal aside, leaning back to gaze up at the sky imploringly. The flickering torches and lanterns of Blackbridge eventually come into view as the caravan winds around a cliff side, jolting momentarily on the uneven road. Snapping out of her private thoughts, Eve looks ahead, to the lights of the settlement and the dark outline of the keep above. And then she sighs. "Congratulations, said Makoto. I don't know her well enough to tell whether this comment was genuine or ironic, but JT:s evasive postponing of explaining the why of it had me on edge. And rightly so, as it turns out. Apparantly, in my absence and without my knowledge, I'd been volunteered into a seat at the council managing High Hold's affairs while its lord, general and closest confidents recover. JT, knowing full well how I would feel about that, tried to sugarcoat the matter with pancakes and her trademark enthusiastic smile, insisting this was all a very good thing. But she knows I want nothing to do with these things, she knows my ambivalence to High Hold, my reluctance towards the spotlight, my disinterest in titles, power and fame. To sit at a Council table, representing the people of Blackbridge who still, I'm sure, regard me as a stranger, an outsider from some soft southern land... if there were at least any Tormish here but for myself and (when he occasionally visits) Laswell! JT just volunteered my name for wanting me to stay put, not because I'd be a good fit! She's committed herself to this place now and even though I promised I'd help her and the others with their development plans, she must've still thought I'd jump at any chance offered by the Riders to leave with them. I'd say no - I can still say no, but for Frederick. I know he wants to make changes, good changes, to the place he calls home. I'm one of the few of like mind that he has for support. Perhaps, then, I should just accept this council seat, do my best, ill fitted though I am. Perhaps if I do not, I'll leave a gap to be filled by someone liased with the True North, with devils, demons, slavers? I don't want to do this. I feel such heaviness at the thought of it, a sense of dread, of shackles at my feet. Is this what true duty is; to feel this way and still push on? I want to take the easy way out, but I know I won't. I just pray to Torm it's temporary."
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  Rika
  • Robyn

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  Reflection The bathhouse in Blackbridge was a quiet place before sunrise. The water was supremely still, lit by various magical lanterns and phosphors that lined the room. Rika stood on the edge and gazed upon her reflection. She didn’t possess a mirror, and pondered that perhaps this was the first time she had seen her reflection in over two years. The image she had of herself was far different than the dark image on the water that looked back. Gone was the youthful, almost pony-ish figure that arrived in Peltarch that one Spring many years ago. The woman that gazed back at her was thicker and heavier. A maturity upon her countenance mocked the youthful carefree woman that bedded rogues and ruffians in drunken pleasure. The woman that stared back was fierce and willful, a proclaimed champion of Uthgar, whose strength flowed through her in battle. Yet, as Rika and her reflection locked gaze, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had failed. The people of her tribe were a shadow of their former selves. The death of the Great Worm at the hand of Zhents had all but destroyed them. She could have chosen to stay, but trusted in the words of Maya the Undying that Tempus willed that her place was here. Certainly, her people were here now. The people of Blackbridge her home. Her Uthgardt heritage was fire in her heart, but inaction left a trail of cooling embers behind her. For every step she took forward, the root of her heritage fell further behind. For the Uthgardt, family was everything. Yet she had wedded no one, born no children, and remained alone in her tent. Instead, she took solace in the family of her raiders. Kyne had sired two strong boys, who tussled and played. Barrabus had just been wed, and they were expecting their first child in the fall. Rika was the favorite aunt, the older sister, mentor and friend, but not mother. This hurt more than she cared to admit Rika frowned at the thought, and her reflection frowned with her. She thought of the keep and what it would mean. Would not “Lady Rika” have suitors? The thought irritated her. Except with exchanges between tribes, it was rare for an Uthgardt to wed without love, or duty to family. Better to die in battle than wed for … politics. With a snort of derision, Rika dove into the water. Her reflection grew and scattered, staring back no more.
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  A parallel story of the Bandit attack on Peltarch
  • Gonnar

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  Vexing Visions
  • Fadia

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  It was four years ago almost to the day that they found me. Derwyn, the mage. Boggs, the warrior. Myriah, the minstrel. Riordan, the priest. Poe, the thief. Myriah wouldn't survive the encounter. I probably should have died today. Several times over, if we're being honest. Our "lions" - me, Biam, and Amanda - went into the crypts with an angry dwarf and some gnome I'd not met before. Almost from the start, things went awry. I took a wound. An infection came with it, some magical thing spread by the ghouls down there. I felt my body weakening with each step. That queasiness burned in my gut like I was about to shit out two tendays' worth of dwarven food all at once. I was slipping. Not physically, but metaphorically. Whatever was eating away at me, I'm sure would've finished the job eventually. And there they were - Vick, and Meadow. They got me back up on my feet, at least, even if the others didn't seem to have any interest in whatever help they were offering. I'll owe them for this one, I can tell you that right now, journal. But then, just as quick as they'd shown up, they were gone. And we'd once again gotten in over our heads. The gnome and I wound up on the ground, bleeding out. Only some very timely healing kept me from wasting the life those two had just given back to me. But the damnedest thing is, I had another dream. While I was on the ground there. I know that I was only down for moments. The fight was still going on when I got back up. But it felt like I'd been down for hours. I know I didn't talk much after I went down. Truth be told, I've been kind of lost in thought since it happened. I was on a table. A burning pain on my arm. A light tap-tap-tapping wouldn't stop, and the smell of brimstone was all around me. I couldn't move. Couldn't even turn my head. But I was aware. And I was being spoken to. Told that I was being prepared. Prepared for what? I can't say. The room I was in was dark, and what little I could make out from darting my eyes this way and that gave me little clue as to what was happening. And then, they lifted me up. Carried me. I wanted to try and fight them off, and escape, but my limbs just wouldn't accept what my mind told them to do. I was a captive within my own body. Just as I was being taken to my cell, just as the door to it opened up, I was healed. Not in the dream, but in truth. And with no time to reflect on what I'd seen, I simply rejoined the fight. Now that I have time to sit and reflect on these things, I'm left to wonder at what I missed. I'm not sad to have lived, of course, but if I could have just stayed in that scene a few moments longer, enough to maybe get a look at who I was with, I feel like I might feel more satisfied with it in some way. Perhaps another time.
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  A less than impressive entrance
  • Kronan

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  Sir Jonald, a living legend
  • Gonnar

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  ~ A Worthy Death ~ "It is only because of Sir Jonald's brave heart and divine soul that I sit here before you to tell you this story. We were in the foothills west of peltarch, and we were fighting the usual orcs and worgs when it came to our comprehension that so many orcs had to be coming from somewhere, furthermore, be led by someone! So we decided to put an end to these orcs business by trying to find their lair and slay them all. We pushed through the frozen forest, dealing with the winter wolves and orcs. It was hard, the cold was chilling to the bones, but Sir Jonald and I pressed on without falter. We cleared the freezing woods, and we spotted a cave entrance from which we could hear a lot of Orc babblering. It was our duty to head in and end with their misserable and rotten existence. We encountered heavy opposition, from spellcasters, orcs with large swords, and arbalesters, but we still pushed through with the help of my singing and Sir jonald's legendary combat skills. After defeating dozens and dozens of the orcs, from the main floor and the upper floor, Sir Jonald detected some incredibly tainted evil from below... we thought that must've been the leader, and it was our chance to deal with it once and for all! We headed down the crowded cave. We fought even more orcs, from all sizes and power... but nothing , nothing compared to the Orc that was leading them. It was a towering, hulking, ugly, stink-faced Orc weilding two axes. Grishnak the Elfslayer himself, you might've heard of him before...a very vicious and remarkably bloody-lust orc. I knew Sir Jonald wouldn't doubt a single second, so I tossed my shield aside to be able to cast without failure. A Haste spell on him, to be able to keep up with the orc, who wasn't alone. Was accompained by one of their elite warriors. I tried to get my shield back, but they pushed us back and I had no time for it. The fight was tough, we managed to strike the orc several times, but it wouldn't flicker. It was bleeding but unyielding, not even stopping is relentless strikes on Sir Jonald. I was flanking, hoping that he wouldn't turn on me. It was already severly wounded, and I thought that'd make him go softer on his axe strikes, but I couldn't have been any more wrong... He viciously struck Sir Jonald, pushing his head against the wall, making him fall down and lose consciousness. My eyes opened wide, I wanted to scream, but the orc , thinking Sir Jonald dead, turned on me and cut me in half with a single strike. I died, I was there , cold on the ground.. while Sir Jonald innerly fought for his life. You won't believe me, but the last thing I could feel before leaving this world... was Sir Jonald's lament for not being able to help me at that moment, his pain at seeing me die. Even when he was fighting for his own life, he worried about me. Isn't that touching? I think it was because of that that he mustered enough strength to recover from the wounds. He didn't even think of running for his life! he instead took a chance to drink some healing, and immediatly charged towards Grishnak and it's minion. I cannot say how glorious and epic that fight must've been, because I was not present. Well.. I was, but cold dead. But sir Jonald, as I've said many times, is a man of honour, a man full of bravery, and even more... a man friend of friends. He defeated the foul orcs for my sake, for what they had done to me. And he carried my dead corpse all through the woods back to the city. And if you think this would be all of it, you'd be wrong... for he, in all his good will , after he raised me from the dead with the help of priest Galin of the Triad, ... gave me half of his gold so we would be equally poor, or how I see it.. equally rich".
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  Letters Home
  • Fadia

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  Observational Art as Performed by Mashal Marshallomin
  • LustJaw

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  Silver Wings As silver wings thundered above mortals high, A lonely mentor trained a would be name. With expectations of a hero it would imply, We are only left with ourselves to blame. How much is it to ask for one more to care, Of the plights and wellbeing of the common good. When at the end of the story remains only despair, Indifference of choices never close to understood. Needless sacrifice at the cost of genuine souls, Another name on a long list for only one to remember. Why then do we look to adventurers and their goals, Their intent only as far as the next being to dismember. Rest now noble heroes your duty is now fulfilled, Sahno and Dormanak, you gave what was never asked. Curse this weak body and these hands unskilled, Unable to defy your chosen fate and all tragedies past.
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  Nathelin's Journal continue
  • Tomian

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  It’s been long time since I contemplate. The helmet served me better than I told Pious. I didn’t have heart to tell him the truth. (This is next part of story. It’s pretty long. End of story is located with another brackets like this one.) I went back to Damara for a moment after I got helm. When I got letter from them saying that they will break out the captives. There was a long power struggle between the Resistance and the Flames of Vengeance. In shadows the resistance gain financial and people support from nobles and lordships to even a little. Overall the resistance went far with constant caravan raids. It was clever idea but they went down the well too many times and they got tricked by bounty hunter groups and shady bandits. Those that escaped made it to the sanctuary and those caught by time go by they were sent into Flame of vengeance citadel. I had been waiting long time to help but even with willpower and courage lost, could not let those ones get tortured anymore. When headed closer towards sanctuary a flash of blade threatened my neck. I recognise two of them One that drew dagger was Teris’s personal scout and the other illusion underdark mage Glardiss. I was quick to reveal name and allowed them to remove my helm.. His spell determined my magic and he impressed and told me to hurry that time was near. The hideout was underneath ruins. We took several passages to get to underground caverns onto it connect into large hole with many rooms. Meeting room was in middle of the hideout with a big circle of tables and chairs. Papers of plans of the citadel and map of the lands details of the three village. The citadel was if I remember.. think north-east of the Ironspur, between The Galena snake and Icelace rivers. The villages caught my eye. One on left side that looked more like gathering of farms marked with a rat, the other that look more like outpost marked with a lightning bolt and the other with a shard of ice. I did not know what it meant but it didn’t sound good and when I asked they told me not to worry about it and that they will sneak in the citadel at the eve of night. I had a sense of forebode but I was already there to help. It did not help when I asked where the Paladin’s mercenary groups were and they reply that they do not need them to rescue the captives. It took a long trip and we went around the Trail’s end to sneak through ravines and mountains to get from behind the citadel. It was strange there was little flame of vengeance patrols or bounty hunters on the path. The six of us, The assassin Roderick brothers of Praka, The underdark gnome and a quiet no-nonsense female half elf scout from the Rawlinswood, myself and Teris our leader climbed up first and broke into lower citadel with a grapple hook and rope and we all climbed after and those that weren’t good climbers the illusionist bolsters us with magic. Something was not right. We were at dormitory level and most guards should have been aware and maybe awoke at presence. We were silent but they looked ill on their beds.. Vomit and excrement filled the floor some even looked like death’s door would have been..ughhh merciful. They were not merciful any chance they got they slit their pale death throats some calling for mercy and finding none. I just closed my eyes…..They took the dead’s clothing and dressed as the enemy walking past them all. They said that I did not need to dress up since I was in black leather with a helm. The had information that that once in a while rogues and assassin’s would come by to help test their awareness in strange game of hide and tag. I just closed eyes as they murder them all unaware that they die by one dressed as their own. All I could tell myself was this was wrong but only valid excuse was the the flame of vengeance were murderers of innocence.Finally the cells was behind the Citadel, it was easy to kill the jailor and the guards. After we freed the captives and make escape from behind the citadel they waited for us. The captain of the citadel a very mad powerful looking mage of Kossuth, looking of seared heat with his fire robes. A handful of guards stood next to him a few look same as sick ones but at least they could stand. Cassius the Captain of the hold begrudge remarked Teris’s clever plan. I couldn’t believe that I was too dim..Actually I can believe that I was too dim to realise what the plan they executed to infiltrate without issue. They had plan in advance to weaken the three villages nearby as distraction. She persuade a champion of Talos and a few of his giants allies that included a storm giant create storms and to strike the outpost to the south. Her other allies, Talona worshippers that took aspiration and inspired to be Plague Rats poisoned the farm villages to the south west of the Citadel. The dames of the western villages were taken by servants of the Frost maiden from the Great Glacier by orders of the new Ice-queen. They encase the whole village in frost. Most of the forces that was usually stationed in the citadel scattered to each of the village to put out the dangers. It shocked me that she was not only a planning genius but she had so much connections and resources to use. It came to a clash and I was nearly out of mind getting grips that we became the monsters that we fought against…Teris told me that the ends justified the means. She also told me not to feel bad for the villages. The Zhents ran the outpost the other villages supplied slaves and bodies for their Banite necromancer allies. I tell myself how did this all come into bad fruit. That wasn’t the worst part of all.. The underlings never had a chance. They were all demoralised and few sickly. They fell fast under strokes like all hope was taken away. Teris spent time torturing him with thrusts to his guts and spleen. The captain spat an insult, that we were no better than brigands and thugs. He was right. I should have said no when I got the chance. Could I had said no.. Chain breaker was right to call me coward before. Teris choked him and screamed into his ear that at least we were not what that word? Hypo-something Demon worshippers. She choked the blood out of his mouth. There was so much revelations to bear. Through much searching Teris placed the captain’s left on a strange looking hook hand sigil on the wall of his room. It took the illusionist spells to uncover the magic sign. The wall creak open and we shrine of deprave acts. Mutilate corpses, skeleton and profane half stich undead that was once Flame of vengeance warriors and people from nearby villages. A tainted book that name demon king sat on an Altar that look like a hideous monster with leather strange wings and very sharp teeth. I still don’t remember name except begin with Fraz. We did what Verika would do in this instance.. Burn down the whole place down. Who knows they both would get along.. After they pat each other on back and thanked me for help, I told them that I don’t think I will come back to help this was too much of ordeal and need more reflection. They told me that I will always have friend in them but I just left for Narfell and promised myself not to look back. (End of story) So this is where I’m at now. I reflect on things to come and have to deal with my emotions. I feel sick inside for all that happened, but I centre myself, got to move on with reflection and become better so I don’t ruin lives anymore. The Monks will make me whole again and I can reflect and learn to be better and one with all. I still think about what needs to be done. I will see Sahno soon.
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  Hold the Line
  • UnholyCalls

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