The Journals of Sculler (Last updated 7/5/04)

[frog]

Hey all. After 2 to 3 years straight of doing the DM thing, I finally get to be a player in a game. Milo Windby has graciously agreed to DM a second game in his homebrew world of Simmural. There is already one thread somewhere around here about the first game if you are interested in reading more about the other groups adventures.

Without further ado...here we go.

 

[frog]

The Journals of Sculler, former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in S

The Journals of Sculler, former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in Simmural.

Preface
Master Marallan has told me that all Great Mages write a chronicle of their exploits. As my Master has undertaken to make of me a Great Mage, it therefore becomes part of my duties to write of my adventures, such as they are.

A short history of my life.
I do not remember where I was born, or who my parents were. My earliest recollections are of the kitchens here in the University. The headmistress of the kitchens tells me that I was found outside the back doorway as a babe and none had the heart to leave me there to die. For this I owe them my life, such as it is.

I spent the next 14 years of my life learning the duties of a scullery boy. My name became Sculler, for that is what I did. In the beginning, my lot was not terrible, although I learned the value of caution. When dealing with those who can turn your bones to jelly with but a word, one must always play the humble servant.

My childhood slowly became one filled with fear. Terrors stalked the halls after dark, as the Great Lords practiced their summonings in the pitch black of the night. When I was summoned out of the closet I called home during these times to complete errands of one sort or another for the Great Lords, I learned terror of the unknown and fear of the dark. I still fear...but not the dark. I have learned of more horrible things than the dark.

My life changed one afternoon in the year 99 A.C. (After Crowning). I had been assigned to scrub the bloodstains off of the floors in the main hallway after a particularly bad night. As I worked, two Lords, Master Marallan and Master Kimber, came along discussing the properties of Magic. They were arguing about Magical Talent being something of inherent Nature or if it could be taught to anyone. Their debate became heated and, in a fit of what he would later call “temporary insanity”, Master Marallan wagered that he could teach ANYONE to become a Mage. Master Kimber took him up on that wager, and selected the most unlikely available candidate for training, me.

Master Marallan was not amused, but refused to back down and lose face before his rival. I became his apprentice. I spent time learning to read, write, and do arithmetic calculations. I learned the magical properties of herbs and gems, animals and beasts. I learned the differences between evocations and divinations, conjurations and abjurations. I learned fear of a new kind.

Master Marallan is a good Master. Without him I would be nothing. I know this for he tells me so every day. He believes that I don’t know what he is thinking. To him I am nothing more than a wager to be won and then tossed aside. Or perhaps used as a sacrifice to bind some Demon or Devil to his service for a time.

I have learned many things from Master Marallan, not all of them are things that he intended to teach me.

I will not be used. I will not be a pawn in the game of the Great Lords. I have seen what power is and how it can be obtained. I will play the part of the servant, the victim, the coward. I will let them believe that I am an ignorant, stupid scullery boy who does not understand what they strive to teach me.

I will be careful. I will marshal my will and strength. I will obtain the power to free myself from them. I will be afraid no more.

A friend
I have a friend. Her name is Molly. She dances at one of the brothels down near the docks. Her dances are not ones of joy. They are dances of desperation.

She saves every penny she can beg, steal, or earn. She bought herself a sword. Molly spends her time practicing in the fields outside of town during the day, when she is not at work.

She tells me that someday she will escape the brothels. She run away and go out into the world and be a hero, like in the tales the skalds tell. She will make her fortune and be admired by all. Her eyes look far away into the distance when she talks of her dream.

I know her dream…for I share a similar dream. Although my dream has a different ending.

Molly looks after me. I am the little brother she wishes she had. She is my big sister. We are the only family that we have ever known. Someday, when my dream becomes reality, her employers will receive payment for each dance that they had from her. A thousand times over.

A City
Simmural is my city, my home. Ruled with an iron fist by His Most Lordly Grace Duke Siefer, Duke of Simmural, Guardian of the Simmur Straight. The Dukes men patrol the streets regularly. They enforce law and order. The King’s Law. The Law that keeps Molly in the brothels and me fearing for my life each moment of each day.

The King’s Law is Just. The King’s Law is Good. I know this for the Duke’s men tell me so. The King’s Law is made for the privileged…not the poor.

If you ask anyone, they will tell you that Trope, across the straight, is the black mark on the Kingdom. Lawlessness rules there. If you ask me, Trope is the only honest place in the Kingdom. At least you know up front what to expect when you go there. At least there they recognize and acknowledge the darkness. Here it is carefully swept under the rug, away from prying eyes.

A Story
I am Sculler. Former scullery boy of the University of the Arcane Eye in Simmural. This is my story.

 

[Milo Windby]

Ahhhhh

Ahhhh, it does my heart good to see some of the Chronicles of Simmur written. Ever since my own writing of Frog's game lapsed, I've been missing this sort of thing. My other game in Simmur is full of rollplayers. That's not a bad mark on them. It's fun, but there's not a lot of role playing going on. I've got material, but not many of them are much interested. Then there's Frog. He's a role player at heart. You oughtta see him at the table, fully in character, cringy at everything that so much as looks at him. It's great fun. I look forward to more from his point of view. I look forward to DMing for Frog, Brigit, and Mazi from our other group. Let the fun continue!

 

[frog]

Day 1 (30 March, 99 A.C.)
Today I was sent out to collect various herbs and roots that Master Marallan says are needed for his nightly summonings. Although he has not told me precisely what they are for, I have been able to discover that these herbs contain a stimulant used for, shall we say, more amorous encounters than those normally associated with Demon Lords of the Abyss. Unless Master Marallan has bound a succubus for his personal dalliance, I believe that his “summoning” will call forth a lady of the night rather than a Lord of the Night.

While searching for the herbs outside the wall, I was accosted by two Elves, male and female. They claimed to be an embassy sent to the King and that they had been attacked by giant ant like creatures. They did look a bit worse for wear, covered in mud and blood, severely wounded. Their arrogance knew no bounds as they demanded that I take them to the city and shelter them. Playing the simpering coward role which has become second nature to me, I led them to Molly.

Day 4 (4 April, 99 A.C.)
Molly sheltered them for several days until they were fit to travel. They had become lost after the attack and gone further south than they had intended. They asked us to guide them to Simmur, the capital city, where they could meet with the embassy there. Molly sees this as her chance to finally break free from the life that she hates so much. She told me that this was her big chance to escape the brothels and begin her journey towards becoming the hero of her dreams.

Molly is too good a soul. They are taking advantage of that. She wants me to come with. She says that I can do better than being a serf/slave to Master Marallan. She doesn’t realize what I have already learned. Neither does Master Marallan. He believes that I still cannot read, let alone perform a spell. I have a surprise for them all one of these days.

 

[Milo Windby]

Day 1 (30 March, 99 A.C.)
Unless Master Marallan has bound a succubus for his personal dalliance, I believe that his “summoning” will call forth a lady of the night rather than a Lord of the Night.

I laughed out loud at this! Marallan has suddenly become a lecher. Not a problem for me. Although I can see I'm going to have my hands full keeping track of Sculler's ulterior motives.

 

[frog]

Day 5 (5 April 99 A.C.)
I asked Master Marallan if I could accompany the elvish embassy to Simmur as a guide. He was quite upset that I had not come to him earlier with the information that they were here. He seems to believe that they can be used to his advantage somehow.

He has given permission for me to accompany them. Before I left, he told me to take his familiar, a nasty, fat old toad, along with. I must be very careful not to give myself away on this journey. If his toad reports back that I do know magic, Master Marallan will not hesitate to trumpet his victory in the wager to the whole University. At that point I become a liability soon to be disposed of.

Perhaps I should take some time to describe my companions on this journey. I have already written of Molly and myself, but I have said little of our companions.

The stories of Elves are many and varied, but all have a single thread in common. The Elves are ancient, ageless, and beautiful in their majesty. Wise beyond humankind, their magic is powerful and second to none. What these stories have forgotten to tell is the insufferable arrogance which accompanies them like a second skin.

The first of our Elven companions is the priest, L’Rani. For someone who purports to be a Priest, he certainly lacks the demeanor that I would expect to see from one of the cloth. I suppose it has to do with the fact that he is an Elf. He behaves as if it is his divine right to behave as if we short lived creatures are beneath him. To him we are as ants to be trodden on…or perhaps more like livestock to be cared for only until our usefulness is at an end. Behind his eyes one can see the debate rage. Is it better to save the magic to heal one of the People or should I use it on these lesser beings for now? Always calculating, always figuring the odds. This is one who bears careful watching.

A second elf there is, dour and taciturn, yet golden as the Sun. Carandra. She is a warrior of some kind, but nothing like anything I have ever heard of before. She carries a chip on her shoulder the size of the Great Tree of Life that the priests sometimes speak of. She is angry at the world. If honor comes up in the conversation she immediately bristles like a porcupine. She carries two strange swords that she treats as if they are holy relics. In truth they look more like works of art than swords. Their blades like steel leaves from a deadly tree. She allows none to touch them. She has sworn an oath, although she refuses to say what it is. No calculation hides behind her eyes…only iron, and pain.

Setting out on this journey could be the best thing that has ever happened to me…or the worst.

Day 6 (6 April 99 A.C.)
We left Simmural early this morning and traveled hard all day, breaking every couple of hours for a rest. Carandra began teaching Molly how to use her weapons during the breaks. Something about her possessing the right kind of “Spirit” for the blade that she carries and bringing herself into harmony with it. Foolishness. Everyone knows that common blades do not possess spirits. Molly is entranced by the thought though. I do admit, she is improving with the blade. Perhaps these Elves can serve some use after all.

L’Rani does not speak much, but he looks disapprovingly on Carandra’s teachings to Molly. He feels that she is wasting her time casting pearls of wisdom before swine. Swine are we? We shall see my dear Elf lordling…we shall see.

Day 7 (7 April 99 A.C.)
Today we found a strange hole dug in the ground. It was six sided, and led down into the depths of the earth. The elves ignored it and pressed onward. Do they have no curiosity? How can a race that deems itself so wise be so utterly unconcerned about a mystery such as the one we found? Bah. I am surrounded by inferior minds and yet must continue my simpering role.

Master Marallan’s familiar is proving to be no burdon after all. I have simply stuck it in a sack and put a blanket around it to muffle the sounds from outside. I check in on it occasionally to make sure that it has not perished. It would not do to anger Master Marallan by inadvertently smothering his familiar.

Day 8 (8 April 99 A.C.)
Egads…what a night! Molly and I took the first watch and what should come barreling out of the bushes but a wild boar. I experimented a bit by using a minor cantrip in an attempt to blind the beast, but it must have looked away as the flash went off. Molly was seriously injured. Luckily Carandra and L’Rani were there to finish off the beast and heal Molly.

No more trail rations…roast boar tonight!!

Day 9 (9 April 99 A.C.)
More of those strange holes in the ground. I suggested that we go down into one, but was overruled by Carandra. She will brook no delay in accomplishing her orders. It is a matter of honor.

Upon camping tonight, another disturbance arose in the bushes. This time it was no ordinary boar or wild beast but a pair of giant ant like creatures. They rushed the camp, for what purpose I did not wait to ascertain. I let fly with my most powerful dweommer of the First Valence and they instantly collapsed into a deep sleep.

We debated whether to awake them and question the beasts or not. Molly wanted to discover what they were doing and who they were…Carandra replied “These are the same beasts that attacked our party before you met us…they have shown themselves to be our enemies and shall have no mercy!” She rather unceremoniously beheaded them both.

We tracked them back to another six sided hole in the ground. Well, we at least know what is digging them. Carandra refuses to go down into the holes to ferret out this danger. It is not her mission.

We moved camp a couple of miles away from where we were attacked. No other disturbances roused us from our slumber. We are about two to three days away from Simmur. What happens when we get there is anyone’s guess.