Let it begin
The Journals of Goetryn Pater
Blessed is Deneir, Lord of Glyphs, who first taught mortals the gift that is writing. May He look upon this work as a paean to His greatness from His most humble follower, and be pleased.
Nightal 15, 1361 Demos Reckoning, 4 leagues north of Cymeria
Our first night on the road! Gunnstein and I have set camp for the night with a caravan of the Red Hydra coster on its way to Harren. We decided to travel with these merchants for mutual protection and companionship, and so far it has proved a wise decision. Gunn has found a set of gambling partners at one of the fires, and I have found some respite to myself, though I must admit one of the serving girls in the caravan is doing her best to distract me!.
Nevertheless, I must begin to chronicle this journey (and, anyways, she stinks, a sad consequence of life on the road, I suppose). Now is as good a time as any for reflection, and for peace of mind I must seek it in writing, that blessed gift from our great Lord.
Indeed, the events of the past week are only now beginning to sink in fully. To be brief and protect the honor of those involved, let me simply say that following a war of words over a girl, one of my rivals beat me within an inch of my life. The painful bruises are still healing, and I am afraid my nose will forever have a slight bend to it. My father, Rolg, fearing for my life I think (this was not the first such encounter for me, sad to say), decided to send me to Harren, the Sevencity, for my own protection. He also sent Gunnstein Hroar, one of his Gordian guards, to protect me.
I can’t say that I’m not angered at my father’s heavy-handed involvement, as he has been all but absent in my life for the past four years since entering the employ of the Countess Sable. At the same time though, the open road beckons with all that it offers. I can either take this as a setback, or an opportunity, and I choose the latter. Travel will give me a chance to prove myself – to myself most importantly. I left Cymeria with a clean slate. My petty rivalries and imbroglios are left behind there, and in Harren I can make a fresh start, or if not there, perhaps in Reynholt or Pell.
Ah, to someday even return to the Val Hor of my youth! To study in its libraries and universities! Some day, when I have some experience and means of my own, I would travel there and search out the Metatext on my own. But I digress.
So tonight, we camp here. I leave you, journal, for the morrow. I am weak, and Lyalle (the aforementioned serving girl) beckons.
Nightal 18, the Wilds of Luc Valu, North of Cymeria
There is much to report, and little to comprehend, dear journal.
This morning our caravan was attacked by horsemen. The bandits came on us over a hill to the west, and fell swiftly upon the caravan. In the chaos, Gunn hauled me off the road and into the tree line to the east, and in doing so he possibly saved both our lives. The merchants quickly surrendered, but instead of looting the caravan outright, the bandits were searching for… us.
Gunn and I watched as long as we could, while the bandits interrogated the merchants about our whereabouts. Fortunately we had escaped in the confusion, but even so we decided to head further into the wilds to avoid capture.
I find this development very disturbing. Why were they looking for us? I doubt that my rivals would have gone to the point of hiring bandits to hunt me, but whom else could it have been?
Tonight while making camp, Gunn and I talked over our situation. The Gordian is clearly nervous being so exposed in the wilderness, and feels bound to protect me. Neither of us wishes to return to Cymeria, as I fear my rivals and Gunnstein my father’s wrath. Harren seems dangerous for now as well, as presumably whomever knew to send the bandits after us knew that we were bound for the Sevencity. Gunn mentioned that he knows of possible work to be found in the fishing villages along Lake Harren. The roads are clear, and the snow light for so late in the year. The villages seem like a good place to lay low for the time being and see what the new year brings. We head north and east.
Nightal 22, East of Lake Harren
While setting camp tonight we were ambushed by lizardfolk, horrific humanoid lizards stinking of death. Four attacked us at dusk, swinging great clubs and screeching for our blood. Fortunately I had heard them approaching and was able to get off a crossbow bolt at one as it approached. The three remaining tried to flank us, but Gunn charged and was able to incapacitate one. As it fell, the other two broke and ran, and my next bolt shot high and missed.
Now we stay awake and worry that more will be back. We had heard that these lands were infested with the lizardfolk – the work Gunn talked of getting in the fishing villages was to protect the towns from the incursions of these very creatures. I fear now that our camp is not safe, and that more will return. We have decided to make for a large hill to our west, seeking safety in higher ground. We can only be a few days from the shores of Lake Harren, and hopefully we will be able to see it from there. First our caravan is attacked, and now our camp! An evil star has shone on me since leaving Cymeria.
Goodnight, dear journal, I hope to write in you again.
Nightal 23, the marshes east of Lake Harren
Progress continues to be slow. We should make the hill tomorrow night. Our rations run low. I only hope that if this journal is ever recovered it can be a warning to others: avoid this area on your life.
Nightal 24 – Hope out of the Darkness?
Many events today! As we made ready to set camp on the western slope of the hill, Gunn and I spotted a motley group of humanoids approaching us – a strange collection of demihumans and foreigners. I quickly moved off the road, fearing the worst after so many ill meetings in the last tenday. As they neared the base of the hill, we saw that they were themselves pursued by another group of lizardfolk. A tense battle ensued as Gunn and I joined forces with the newcomers, and Gunn was nearly killed. I fear my crossbow bolts were little help, though I did slay one of the beasts. The creatures even offered us a chance to surrender, but we refused (we? I hardly know these people), fearing what our fate might be in their clawed hands. The ensuing battle was the fiercest yet, as the lizardfolk shamans even used spells against us. By Tymora’s favor on lost causes, we were able to drive them back into the swamps whence they came.
The strangers seem friendly enough, a rare blessing after so many troubles. They are:
• Riley, a human from the Freecity of Pell
• Kazir, an Aradeeti wizard of some kind
• Pell, a gnome wizard
• Driade, an elven huntress
For mutual protection, we have decided to band together in the swamp. This group is out here following a map to an unknown destination. They were hired by Lordling Matrim of the Hills to follow a map he discovered in a painting of one of his ancestors. Lordling Matrim, though, perished in their first battle upon entering the swamp. They buried the Lordling, but decided to continue on his quest and honor his name.
Further in the swamp, they encountered a leaning monument covered in runes. Showed these runes, I attempted to translate them. I have some small skills at this, and deciphered the following information:
… six sacrifices to seal his slumber… one… blood to awaken him… darkness falls… at dawn.
The meaning of this is lost on all of us, but it certainly sounds ominous. It is several hundred years old, but curiously the language appears to be Epalian, a language that should have died thousands of years ago with the Epalian Empire. If not for a few tomes I saw the language in as an altar boy, I never would have recognized the script. Even more strange, those who saw it claim the obelisk itself appeared to be much older than the writing, perhaps four to five thousand years old, though how anyone not a dwarf could tell the difference is beyond me.
The runes seem unrelated to the quest at hand, though, however fascinating I may find them. Our new companions’ map has led them thus far, and they expect to soon approach the intersection indicated on the map.
A final note lest I forget in slumber. Kazir’s owl familiar, Zazu, spotted a rider on horseback observing us from a distance. I am too exhausted to add this rider to our growing list of horrors. I bid you, dear journal, goodnight.
Who knows, maybe I'll get a job in the virginia area and come play!
