The Far Reaches (Fantasy Travelogue)

[Lacco]

27th Bleakmoon, 694th in Cycle of the Red Sun

Today, something strange happened.

We tried to move as far away from the Scar as possible, into the Ironcrest. The valley solved at least our thirst - Kresho provided one. He slowly approached one of the larger species of the "boulder crab", as master Verin now calls them, and slowly pierced his side in specific place with small straw. A spring of freshwater, a bit sweet with slight metallic aftertaste, appeared for few minutes. We quenched our thirst and moved on. Kresho explained that the larger the "boulder crabs" are, the less likely they are to notice such things - however, had he pierced it on a wrong side, we all would have been dead.

But this is not what I want to write about.

The "monkeys" returned at night. I was the one on night watch again - I couldn't sleep due to the grumbling noises of my stomach, when first of them appeared just behind the circle of light provided by our modest campfire.

I roused the others, but nobody picked up any of our weapons - there were just too many of them.

One of the "monkeys" - a taller specimen which - surprisingly - had its head covered in animal skins - approached us, gestured for us to sit down and even spoke! It had very simple syntax and used only the most basic of words - and it took us a while to understand its strange, whistling and wheezing voice.

The other monkeys, in the meantime, brought along various items - articles of food, clothes, some weapons, few jewels and trinkets, even some items with design that I have never seen! The whole lot amounted approximately to weight of items they took from us.

Then - they left.

From what I gathered during the half hour the... entity spoke, their packs (?) trade items of value. If the first item offered is weapon, the two sides are considered to be enemies and the trade goes article by article. If the first item given is food, it is assumed the two sides are on friendly terms and are allowed to take whatever they want.

The group we met was surprised we did not follow them to their pile of offerings, and so brought it to us.

I am still wondering what would have happened, had Kresho thrown a stick at them...

...but I should go to bed. The Grayveil awaits us tomorrow.

---

Now gentlemen, this is exquisite work you are doing! I was also not gone for good, mostly just took some time to take care of my PbPs and LR issues. But I love what you have done here!

Regarding Master Verin's occupation... how would you feel about exploring the magic of this interesting land? Since it's low magic, I would assume powerful, but very costly rituals, and small, usually utilitarian spells. Or even worse.

[Eldan]

28th Bleakmoon, 694th in Cycle of the Red Sun


The first thing we saw, in the morning, was the taller peaks of the Ironcrest in the north, reflecting the light of the rising sun. Master Verin professed some disappointment over not being able to see them up close, as he has some interest in minerology and would like to know what kind of ore gives them that dull, grey sheen. He doubt that it is iron, in any case. Even then, we could hear the roar, deep in our bellies, a distant rumbling.

As the sun rose, the peaks were soon swallowed by the walls of mist that descended from the slopes and soon, we could not see farther than a dozen steps. Luckily, Kresho found us a hill over which we could see the Veil itself.

The central cataract is said to be a mile wide, where the river meets the cliffs. This may well be an exaggeration, but still, the sight is more magnificient than anything we have back home, anything in I have seem in my travels. The sheer force of that rushing water, as it rushes down the mountains is awe-inspiring. Even from where we stould, I could feel it.

[falcon1]

28th Bleakmoon, 694th in Cycle of the Red Sun


Even more amazing, we saw a creature, the likes of which I have never seen before. It rose out of the water-it must have been at least twenty feet long, more if it left most of it's length beneath the water. It widened it's mouth and clamped down upon one of those great boulder crabs, crushing it in it's jaws and swallowing it whole. Kresho made an odd gesture with his hand, and murmured something upon seeing this.

[Lleban]

1st of Greysun, 694th in Cycle of the Red Sun

Four days of travel down the pass parallel to the Grey river has been utterly exhausting. Having to avoid the river bank and subsisting off the blood of Boulder crabs is a recipes for emaciation. Speaking of recipes Kresho has attempted to make a soup out of fish heads in a broth of boulder crab blood with a mix of local grasses. Surprisingly it was...adequate, though Master Verin found it revolting. It doesn't help that its gotten colder,in fact, hail forced us to seek shelter near an especially large boulder crab last night.

Near the end of the past we found something rather unusual. At the edge of the pass there was what appeared to be an uncharted village. Upon further inspection it appears village is too generous a term for this collection of ramshackle tents surrounded only by a fence. Kresho believes this camp to be populated by heretical fire worshiping orcs. This seems confirmed once we reach the camps outskirts and witness several mutilated and branded orcs.

[Eldan]

Live, damn you, live! This is my favourite threads on the forum.

2nd Greysun, 694 in the Cycle of the Red Sun

With Kresho's help, we soon made ourselves understandable, though my own orcish is rusty and though Master Verin understands it, he says he can not get the throaty "kh", "ch" and "xh" sounds right enough.

The inhabitants of the camp were friendly enough and quite willing to share their tents and fires in exchange for news from further east. Their camp is temporary, they say, and they are waiting for the weather to clear up before they move further east into the unclaimed woodlands.

They are indeed fire worshippers, though there are of course no proper Flamewardens among them. They don't think there are any left alive. Most were petitioners, trading a limb or an eye for a boon from the Burning One. IT seems that is enough to get exiled, now.
I did, however, see one among them I suspect to be from one of the knightly families, a heavily muscled and tusked old male with greying hair, a missing eye and burn scars in patterns of stripes and dots across his entire body. He never spoke a word and kept to himself and everyone else was glad to let him do so.

The weather is getting worse. THough the hail has stopped, the rain was constant all day and is almost freezing cold. It should be warmer, so far south. Master Verin says he feels something wrong, in the clouds.

[D20ragon]

3rd Greysun, 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun

Sleet today, of all things. We spent the night in a tent silently offered by our hosts. I awoke shivering, listening to the wind drive freezing rain against the hide of the tent. The fire in the center of the camp had gone out entirely, but strangely, the orcs seemed cheerful. I was able to gather that the sacred coal had been safely moved to one of the tents,
and that they believed that the sleet would slow the advance of their pursuers. Naturally, I feel less than thrilled at the news that they are being hunted, but their optimism is infectious.

[falcon1]

eth Greysun, 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun

Today the sleet had an odd quality too it- When I went outside briefly, I found some of it flickered when I got near. I noticed many of the orcs collecting the sleet that did so, but they would not explain what for. I also noticed the flickering sleet did not melt at all. The mood seems even brighter, and I saw many impromptu dances breaking out, only to end as the participants scrabbled amongst the sleet.

[Lleban]

5th Greysun, 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun

Master Verin postulates the sleet, hail and rain to be a sign of "The Izotz," a supposedly once in a century storm. If he's correct then places like that unpleasant crossroads village should be buried in a meter of snow.

The flickering sleet gathered by the group was placed around the edges of an especially large tent. Once the sleet was pilled up 5 cm in height the orcs started gathering in the tent. Once, what I presume a quorum, was established the large burned orc paced around the scared coals and gave a thunderous sermon. Well, that's what Master Verin and I believe anyway, the burned orc had an extremely thick accent, so I was barely able to understand his speech. Fortunately I was able work out themes of oppression, diaspora, and the Burning One's eternal battle with, what could loosely be translated to as "Lord Browning". When asked Kresho, tell us the followers of Lord Browning have spread from the far west like a plague of locusts, displacing many of the traditional religions of the region. While we were aware of a new faith from the west, Master Verin had little idea of it's prolific spread.

After the Burned Orc finished his sermon, the orcs in the chant began singing. First, the audience began a guttural hum, followed by light chanting from the female members. As more orcs joined in the chanting the flickering sleet grew darker and the fire more intense. Once the chanting came to a head, the fire flared with a blue glow coloring the once flickering white sleet pitch black. The tent erupted into a raucous applause and the orcs returned to their individual tents.

[falcon1]

6th Greysun, 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun

The orcs have gathered to see us off, singing cheerfully and waving as they begin to head off. I wonder what will become of them...One of the older orcs, with one eye missing, offered us a small, round stone. Kresho took it eagerly, kissed it, then slid it into his pocket and refused to allow me or Master Verin to examine it. This is very unlike him...I wonder what could have caused such behavior.

[QuintonBeck]

14th Greysun 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun

A week of uneventful traveling. A week of rain and sleet. A week of cold rations. At last the sun has broken enough that I feel I can write without fear my journal will turn into a great smear. Master Verin has determined our journey continues southwestward to the long standing bastion of the Dusk Walkers, Sunfel Citadel. He is determined now to meet with the Walkers who have longest of the civilized races lived in these border reaches. Master Verin has fixated upon this mysterious 'Lord Browning' and the rapid spread of his faith among the local populations and wishes to consult the mystics and sages of the Walkers on what they know.

Kresho has seemed happier since we encountered the fire worshipers. I've seen him staring at the stone their chieftain gave him when he thinks no one is looking, muttering prayers to Årnam. Even despite the sleet and rain he has walked with a purpose heretofore unseen and I get the impression our guide has found within him a renewed faith. I am happy he has found confidence in his faith but I just hope our companion's newfound piety doesn't lead us into any trouble with the followers of Lord Browning.

Master Verin's maps and Kresho's estimations put us less than two days out from the Citadel. I'm hoping tonight we'll be able to start a campfire.

[Lleban]

OOC: Would it be a good idea to keep the true nature of Lord Browning ambiguous, like whether he's a warlord, god, prophet, demon, etc.. depending on who's talking about him. Or is that too confusing?

Also its rather epic this storm has been going on for a couple weeks.

16th Greysun 694th in the Cycle of the Red Sun


Traveling further southwest the rain and sleet have begun to slow, but the winds, seemingly in response have gotten significantly more intense. The Journey to the Sunfel citadel has been characterized by the ever increasing moaning of the woodlands in response to the storm. I'm happy the citadel is in sight as any longer in the wilderness would lead to frostbite.


Built by the illustrious Dust Walkers, the Sunfel citadel serves as a testament to their cyclopean architecture. The citadelwall's were made of the oily crimson stones frequently found within the Scar. Instead of stone crenelations, crenelations were made from the broken shells of boulder crabs. Interestingly enough, Boulder crab shells of varying shapes and sizes were used from building decorations to pavement on the structures outside the walls. Past the walls lay, what appears to be a massive doomed building surrounded by 13 towers in varying positions up to around 100 feet tall. Once we arrived at the gilded gates Master Verin spoke a tongue I've not heard since we've first met. It was not guttural like orcish, or lyrical like elvish, but....different sounding more like a series of coughs and low pitched clicks than any language I'm familiar with.

Within two hours, 3 tall, gaunt, masked figures guided us within the gates.

[Thunderfist12]

16th Greysun, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun
Day's Second Entry

Apologies; I've had the most sudden interruption in my recording, which I shall explain unto the end of this entry.

The figures escorted us through a series of thin stone halls, dark and maze-like, our path illuminated only in the glimmer of torchlight. They are silent, seeming to glide just above the stone floor in their tattered shrouds. Their faces are veiled in masks of white that resemble some grotesque marriage of goblin and crow, and the only flesh visible is on their spindly, wasted arms. It is leathery and dark, yet stretched about the bone so that it is near transparent, the arms themselves seeming longer than they are tall, though they position them as a raptor; the hands sport at least eight five-jointed fingers, the two end digits seeming to serve as thumbs, which only adds to my unease.

The orc murmured myriad prayers to Årnam, calling also upon his brother Årnwåld, He Who Banisheth Shadow. While I honor his efforts, I feel the shades are going nowhere without us.

We were led silently to a room which I was surprised to find spacious and well-prepared. Upon entry, the foremost shade lit the room's torches with his own. They departed in silence.

"They will send for their master and return," Verin assured us. "Keep a strong will. They are but passing shadows, and can do us no harm."

"Can I ask ye one thing m'lud?" inquired the orc.

"Aye," returns Verin.

"How d'ye even know about the devils? About their master?"

Verin chuckled. It was... well, unnerving is an understatement. "Ah, Kresho. Why would I seek counsel with Old Hob if I didn't know the man? How couldn't I know? After all, he is my master as well."

Kresho, appalled, gaped at him. "Ye're... ye're a necromancer then."

The expression - even the pallor - of Verin's face changed. He leered and grinned beneath his hood, his green eyes glowing even through shadows. He had only to say one word, a word that left us silent the rest of the night.

"Aye."

[QuintonBeck]

17th Greysun, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

Verin has been gone from the accommodations we were provided since before early light and though the sun is setting he has not returned nor have I seen him in the limited commons area Kresho and I have been allotted. For all that Verin's revelation shook me it had an even greater effect upon our orc guide. Kresho has questioned me intently about my knowledge of Verin's practices but I have truthfully denied any prior knowledge. While I am struggling to accept the implications Verin is still my master and I his apprentice; not so for Kresho. I fear the orc may try something stupid, something regretful. I am counseling caution and understanding but I feel zealotry is already steeling our companion's mind against reason.

In a bid for peaceful compromise that might end Kresho's inquisition I volunteered to observe and speculate as to the nature and purpose of our alien hosts. The tall bird-faced shadows, to whom I shall refer as Wraiths, do not appear to possess any vocal language that I can observe. They have not answered any questions nor engaged in any idle conversation and when I see them approach one of their fellows their communication appears to consist of nothing more than a few pointed flicks of their multisegmented digits.

Despite this they seem to be positioned at some level of authority for I have seen them give commands with their bony fingers to other shades. These other shadows I have seen take a multitude of shapes though none are so large as the Wraiths. Some appear almost animalistic in appearance while others take unnatural forms as spectral weapons or even a simple dark cloud. None of them have bothered us and the smaller shades flee when Kresho or I approach. I assume it is these creatures(?) that have been cooking and cleaning though it seems I am never in place to see them work.

Still, while undoubtedly disconcerting and unnatural I cannot help but see a great potential in these necromantic creatures. They work tirelessly and seeming without need for sustenance of any form. They are unobtrusive, mostly, and appear to take well to simple tasks not befitting an intelligent being. Master Verin has always demonstrated his wisdom and so I shall endeavor to remain open to this new field of study.

OOC: I like the idea of keeping Lord Browning mysterious and I also feel like we could have the chance to pass the book. I have a few ideas on how that could happen but I don't want to influence what happens next so we'll just see if they still make sense in a couple of entries.

[Thunderfist12]

20th Greysun, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

Verin had not returned since his departure. The lesser shades attended to our commons and provided extravagant feasts of many exotic courses, served each time with a spectacular aged wine. Kresho abstained from the meals at first, though after a time he succumbed to his hunger.

Today, when the third bells sounded from the loft, a our door was opened by a skeletal figure shrouded in linen wrappings and robes. It was followed by a nearly invisible aura that appeared to move it like a marionette. The skeleton swung its arm upward, beckoned, and begun to lead us through the complex. It appeared reluctant in its stride, seeming to resist the direction of its puppeteer.

At great length, we entered a lofty room. It seems to have once been a cathedralesque altar room, though now the altar is covered in scrolls, a throne and three chairs before it, and the pews have been replaced with massive book-cases filled with ancient scrolls and tomes. Shades glide high above, sorting through the archives dutifully.

Opposite the throne was Verin, and in the throne itself was a bestial figure, fully shrouded in black, who I could only assume was Old Hob himself. The two were speaking an odd language, looking furiously down at a seemingly ancient clay tablet inscribed with strange heiroglyphics.

We were seated by wraiths on either side of Verin, facing Old Hob. His face beneath the hood resembles an orc, though covered in black fur and painted with strange white runes. He bears protruding canines on both the upper and lower rows, and his eyes are clouded as though he is blind.

I will draft another entry soon today; the moot has begun, and my master bids me cease.

[Lleban]

20th Greysun, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

Old Hob is no Orc.

Old Hob stood up to his full height, around 10 feet tall, revealing his legs, similar to that of a goat, and a thin skeletal arm. Perhaps the Dust Walkers are the remnants of a forgotten race that lives due to necromancy. Speculation aside the moot began in earnest once three other Dust Walkers entered the library. The four of them, with the addition of master Verin, linked arms and began rhythmically chanting.

As their chanting slowly increased shadowy wraiths began flooding into the room from each of the doors like a swarm of insects. Every wraith whispered in the ear of a chanter in the circle, undoubtedly giving snippets of information to the necromancers. This was too much for poor Kresho as the poor orc looked paralyzed with fear, somehow I'm skeptical that he'll continue to journey with us. As the flood of wraiths decreased to a trickle the chanting ceased and the necromancers spoke in earnest of what they learned. As the conversation picked up Master Verin ushered me in to speak of the months travels in more detail.

Even with Master Verin translating it was nearly impossible to understand Old Hob, but to my understanding the ritual was designed to gather information from the surrounding regions by....well "listening to shadows."

Unfortunately even with several shadow's worth of information available none of the necromancer's were able to arrive at a consensus on the identity of Lord Browning. I'll need to retire for now, I must check on Kresho to see if he's ok.

[Eldan]

You know what? I'll do something radical. The magic is not that interesting if we go much into it, and too much of it might join the tone of the setting. So...

19th Ailing Sun, 12th Year of Dying Fires

Årnam and Årnwald, this can not be borne. Things like this should not walk under the sun. Necromancers, spirits, walking bones, none of this would have been possible when the fires were alive. I must go back to the pious men and women we met on our way. I should have stayed with them and let this cursed necromancer Verin and his apprentice die in the wilderness.

I have taken this journal, hoping that if I die, someone will find it and the description herein. I implore them to do the right thing.

I didn't think my escape would be easy, of course. This Hob is no fool, and at least some of the Wraiths were watching me at all times. Still, I took a chance at dawn and fled. Not five steps into the maze, and a shade was at my heels, howling and shrieking. This, in turn, drew one of the bird-masked wraiths that patrol the citadel, and it came at me, slashing with the terrifying bone claws at the end of its long arms.

Of course, it could not know that I had one of the Sun's Tears with me. When I struck the creature with it, the white stone burst into purest flame, destroying the creature and burning my hand to the bone. I screamed, then, despite knowing it to be a mighty boon indeed.

From there, the way out was not long, nor hard. If I am lucky, the storm will mask my tracks long enough that I can call the others. They had close to a hundred Tears, and it is clear to me now why Årnam sent them to us.

As much as it gives me cover, the storm also hinders my progress. I am walking in mud that at times rises over my knees and I can't light a fire to watch me in the night, nor can I even sleep in dry surroundings. What little food I could hide in my pockets before running is gone, as well.

Årnam willing, I will make it back to the camp.

Kresho is my name, and my name is written in fire.



The next author can of course feel free to have Kresho pursued and killed and the journal restored to the previous owner.

[QuintonBeck]

OOC: Yes! Kresho seemed like the natural heir to the book.

23rd Ailing Sun, 12th Year of Dying Fires

I have walked miles and rest now comfortably for the first time. Halfway or close to where we left the good men and women of Årnam and Årnwald I have found an abandoned lodge that held dry wood. Rain has become a settled rhythm. No more is it biting cold or sleeting but it hovers in the air as an ever present dampness to the world's light. Still, I have found game returned to hunt, a blessing I am thankful for.

I have looked back on the apprentice necromancer's notes. The tongue is not mine but I know its shapes and sounds. She had no fire in her soul. No, she hid it and pretended it was knowledge. She was like her master, seeking to rationalize and control a world that defied a person's rights to such power. She categorized me. Called me orc and other and held no value in the faith of myself or my people.

I have read the first account in this tome too. It is frightening. More signs the light grows dim. We must remember and act of Årnam and Årnwald in these dark times. I look to my wounded hand as it slowly heals from the Sun Tear's power and I remember this. I will rest here tonight and tomorrow set forth once more to find my brothers and sisters.

[Thunderfist12]

24th Ailing Sun
The gods bring blessings in the guise of a curse.

I awoke to find a tiny black-robed figure picking through my pack. Most of my supplies lay on the ground around him. He seemed to be examining them, looking closely and muttering before tossing them away like trash. When I sat up, rather than running away, it tilted its head my way and began scurrying curiously my way on all fours. I could see nothing of its face or body, only the shape of a bestial muzzle 'neath a tattered grey shroud.

I asked him, not expecting a response, what he thought was doing tearing through my things. It cooed like some strange animal, then, to my surprise, croaked out a few hoarse noises:

"Gob... nah... ma-TA!" it squeaked proudly. I recoiled at first, then settled to ask it another question.

"So... what'd ye be called then?"

The creature stood upright and patted it's chest. "Gob. Gob... sahé... lii-ta... GOB!"

Confused, I settled on calling it Gob. It seems to be set on following me, and though at first I found its presence irritating, by midday I carried the little blighter on my shoulder. It's a fair change to have a companion who looks up to you, even if you can't understand a word they say.

[Lleban]

25th Ailing Sun


Praise Årnam, today is sunny, thankfully I've found the campsite of my compatriots. Rummaging through the abandoned campsite has yielded a single sacred coal, but no indication of their direction. The sleet and rain have done a fine enough job erasing any footprints. Gob seems quite eager to look around, scrounging for small rocks and shell fragments in the mud.

After a couple hours of prayer, I decided to let the fire guide me north, gob dutifully jumping on my back as I began to trudge northwards.


As I set up a fire for the night Gob brought me a strange arrow, seemly fired days ago. The head seemed to be a cracked, glossy purple stone, but it was extremely sharp despite its exposure to the elements. I haven't seen a stone like it before.

[Eldan]

25th Ailing Sun, 12th Year of Dying Fires

I have left the foothills behind now and the Ironcrest is rising around me in earnest. The valley I'm following is as desolate as any, consisting of nothing but scree, flint walls and a variety of lichens. Which, at least, are edible.

Gob is proving invaluable. After licking the lichen with distaste, he vanished between a few foulders and just minutes later, came back with a snake near twice his length. The meat was welcome.

Soon, I will come to the blank parts, where the metal heart of the Ironcrest lies bare to the sun. I don't know why my people would have gone up there. I have never heard it described as anthing but bleak, desolate and utterly hostile.

I need to hurry up. There is a peculiar howl to the wind when it comes from the south at night. I know what that means, of course: the necromancers have called a Vrykolak down on me, a corpse hunter.

[YossarianLives]

OOC: This is super neat! I wish I'd seen this thread earlier.

26th Ailing Sun, 12th Year of Dying Fires

I continue to follow the valley upwards, as it grows ever steeper; much of today was spent scaling cliffs and clambering over boulders, one-handed as my burnt hand is still too sensitive. Gob is surprisingly agile - several times today I almost feared the strange creature had left me behind. Not only does the rain persist, a thick fog has moved in around me, obscuring all vision beyond fifteen or twenty paces. If I did not know better, I would swear there are people lurking just beyond my sight.

As I write this entry, I have set up a crude camp beneath a windblown pine, the first tree we've seen entering the hills. There were enough dry sticks to start a fire. I do not begrudge it's warmth, nor the chance to heat my rations, but the presence of sacred fire does more for my spirit than my body. The night does not seem so dark. Furthermore the strange, purple arrow has begun to glow softly. Startled, I attempted to throw it away, but Gob went into a panic and wrestled it from my hand. He has now calmed, but has not yet returned the arrow to my possession.

For now, I sleep. Another long day lies ahead of me.

[Lleban]

28th Ailing Sun, 12th Year of Dying Fires

After another days climbing I've appeared to reach a plateau.While the fog is still thick I can make out the skeletons of massive Serpentine beasts. Some of the bones are brittle while others seem hard as steel. Whatever these monsters were, they've decayed long ago. Gob occasionally digs up scales and smaller fragments of bone, but there doesn't seem to anything alive here. Why Årnam, why would anyone go through such a place? Perhaps the answer lies in this trail of ashes.

Its nearly sundown, yet I hear the scuttling of the corpse hunter, an abomination of shadow made solid. I'll try to confront it here where I can catch it by surprise amidst the bones. As long as I have a sacred coal I should be able to triumph.

[LibraryOgre]

The Mod Wonder: Bumped.

[Lacco]

13th Duskstar, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

I claim this book as mine by the right of scavenger.

Though in civilization the ancient traditions of pilgrims and scavengers are often frowned upon, the Gray Wastes are sufficiently far from the civilized lands and I do not suppose the judges would be able to bring me the summons. Still, my conscience and my principles constrain my actions and therefore I will describe how I obtained it - the tale itself is something worth hearing, and I do not have any other way of entertaining myself at the moment, while sitting at a campfire, positioned above one of the valleys that signify the end of Gray Wastes. I sit at the edge of the plateau of gray ashes, watching the lush green reaches below, bathed in soft light of the moon, and I have to wonder.

If the orc knew the short way through the Gray Wastes, which is known to all members of the strange caste I like to term the "ever striding" - wanderers, transients, exiles, pilgrims - all those who tend to travel, and to not stop their travels for any reason - had he known it, would his predicament be the same? To stay and fight a losing fight, or to continue just for few hours - to see the lights of Vyiriyar, the last bastion of the Order. Hope, for the ones hunted - for the orc was definitely hunted. I have seen his wounds and saw also the traces left by the parasite - the one that marks the victim. I have seen the lifeless coal he was still grasping with all his strength - which I also claimed. It may yet be of use - as the orc had to strain his will to keep it.

Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of the language the orc used for his entries into this journal - the language of the tall ones is not taught anywhere but in their camps, in their families. Previous entries are definitely worth reading and enlightening - and unsettling.

I need rest now - tomorrow I begin the descent and while the orc would be pleased by the proximity of Vyiriyar, I need to evade their scouts and their scrying eyes. The Order is not my friend and I would suffer greatly at their hands.

OOC: Let's give this another try...

[Lleban]

secret technique Deus EX mod resurrection


15th Duskstar, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun


Despite the layers of snow and mud are thickening, I'm half way to the scavenger camp. Good news is, I have a hall fit or a king, bad news is that all this stuff slows down my travel immensely. Without a donkey or some other animal I can only care so much so far. Hopefully, I don't sink into the ever larger pits of mud, or become prey to the ever more dogmatic militants trying to enforce their order on he wastes. This road is marked by the remains of larger caravans hat will not be fully unearthed until the spring floods.

[YossarianLives]

OOC: Wooooooo, it's back!

18th Duskstar, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

Between the ash, mud, and snow, my progress has been incremental - I now regret not wintering in Brahyr, but there is nothing to do but press onwards. Two days ago, while trudging along the road, I heard the sound of hooves on the dirt. I was barely able to conceal myself in the bushes by the roadside before a Vyiriyar patrol passed me by. Twelve of them, all clad in gleaming platemail. After they had passed, I scrambled back onto the path, only to hear the approach of more riders. Hiding in the bushes once more, trying to ignore the thorns pricking my skin, I watched in horror as more and more knights rode past, followed by ranks of infantrymen, supply carts, and camp followers. The Paladins are marching to war, though I cannot guess against whom.

And that is how I ended up bushwhacking through the wilds. The roads are packed with the Vyiriyar and their agents, and I dare not travel them - the Paladins have no patience for vagrants such as myself. I have no desire to meet my end on the gallows. While I seem to have evaded the knights, I fear I may have lost my way. According to my knowledge of this region, I should have reached the scavenger's camp this morning. Still, these swamps all look the same, and I will try not to worry needlessly. I have rations enough to survive for many weeks. I plan to leave with the sunrise, and continue in the same direction. Panicking is death in the wilderness. While the rain had limited itself to a light sprinkle over the past few days, it has grown worse.

[Lleban]

19th Duskstar, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

This morning I was nearly captured by a platoon of 20 foolish Vyiriyar soldiers. Fortunately as they were carting me and some others,half the group, horses, wagons, and all, suddenly fell into a slurry of snow and mud that collapsed under their weight. During the chaos I and a few other scavengers assaulted the soldiers before we could be fully chained. While we had few weapons they had yet to relive us of the bits and bobs we carried among ourselves. Not ready for this level of resistance the infantry routed leaving us to our own devices.

Before we parted ways a fellow escapee informed me that the scavenger camp had been moved further west in an attempt to escape the roaming bands of Vyiriyar. Looking upon the remains of the unfortunate soldiers and travelers who passed through the area, I acquiesce its probably for the best the camp relocated to the plains of Dzungarnia.

[VoodooPaladin]

No dates given. Several pages are covered with written gibberish. Margins are filled with doodles and tally marks.

I've been scarred by the snowflakes. They have minds of their own.

The ice is thick and speaks in riddles. My people knew its tongue once, ruled this land. The snow is comforting.

Will I join the shamankings of old when I die? Raise the charnel spear or be fitted to it?

Mud is lies. Order is mud. Too thick to swim, to weak to build. Falls down, covers all, kills all.

29th Duskstar, 694th Cycle of the Red Sun

The delirium has passed. I should have seen it coming, but I did not expect to be pursued. It's too easy to lose track of the sky among the constant string of snowy pitfalls and mudtraps. The daytime aurora here is not natural, but a curse laid by Vyiriyar upon all they deem unlawful. A cruel fate, far worse than mere thieves and vagrants deserve.

Enough excuses, I could've seen it coming. I'm too far north to meet with the scavenger camp now. This cave complex is well-hollowed, probably an abandoned mine. I'll keep here until the scavengers migrate this way some twenty days from now. Their routes are dependable, but what worries me is not them. If some nobleman comes by with a hunting band, I'll likely be slain under some absurd pretense.


OOC: live! please?