Bardic Lore

[Dawn Herald]

A parchment toughen by the weather is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship and smelling of swamp water.

This is just a page from my travelogue of the domain of Greyhawk that is made up of the unnamed villages and estates along the Selintan River that you won't find on any map, the haunted Cairn Hills, the goblin infested Gnarley Forest, and the rugged hills of the Abbor-Alz. I pen this entry and leave it behind, in the aptly named tavern known as the Cross Roads. For it is here, that I believe heroes may find my work and may be inspired to investigate the problems plaguing the region. It is also here, that I believe that the villains responsible for these dark events have originated and are using as a means to enter our world from the pale beyond. Copies of this parchment have already found themselves circulating among other communities along the Selintan, in order to inspire the heroes of those communities to conduct their own investigations.

I shall make it my own humble duty, as a patriot of humanity and all that is good to continue my own investigations and make the public aware of the events happening around us. So do expect more parchments to arrive.

To protect my identity, I shall simply go by the title of the Dawn Herald and this is the news I bring to you.

• While traveling down the Selintan by river barge, my Rhennee guide informed me we would soon near a small satellite village made up of tallfellows, that went by the name of Fisher's Creek. From what I recalled from my studies, Fisher's Creek boasts a fine inn, the Wormchild's Precipice. A two-story structure that overhangs the Selintan, its rooms offer excellent views of the surrounding countryside. And the meals are prepared with skill and what one would expect from halfling hospitably. When we arrived, we witnessed the remnants of a horrid scene that I shall spare you the details. Fisher's Creek was once a thriving village.
  
  What survivors we did indeed found, told us that a band of marauders arrived and conducted a symphony of senseless rampage revealing themselves to be inhuman and possibly not of this world. They gleefully roamed the streets, killing all in their path. Once they destroyed a few homes, they vanished as inexplicably as they appeared. If myself and my Rhennee guide would had arrived just a hour ago, we would had join the list of the dead. A tallfellow female, who i shall not name, was able to describe the leader of the marauders.
  
  "As tall as a giant, with a broad, muscular body. Two of its four arms end in clawed hands and two end in powerful pincers. It had a doglike head, horned, and its muzzle is full of sharp teeth. His skin is a darker grey shade and his eyes, which she would never forget, are a pierceing dark purple color."
  
  The last I hear, the survivors are now making their journey to Elmshire where they met up with a patrol of outriders.

 

[Dawn Herald]

Another parchment toughen by the weather is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship with the scent of wet dirt.

• Maena's tree. According to the local legends from some of the rangers that frequent this part of the Cairn Hills, felines would congregate here in mass numbers. From cougars to house cats, panthers and stranger beasts. As I walked around the great umbrella thorn tree, I noticed the dozen of claw markings along the black bark. According to this fanciful story, anyone brave enough to come near the great tree and eavesdrop on the cats can learn all their secret plans.
  
  I returned to the nearby town of Diamond Lake to pen my findings on the nature of Maena's Tree when I noticed a large gathering of people around a residential home. Approaching, I inquired with a neighbor on what was going on as it appears everyone was still waiting for the mayor's men to arrive. He informed me that something terrible had happened to the Wacthers family. Seeing as no one was going to stop me, I ventured forward to sate my curiosity. The first thing I noticed were the flies. They were buzzing angrily around the entrance and yet like the people outside, dare not enter despite the open doorway.
  
  After keeping my mouth close and shielding my face from the angry swarm, I entered to discover a ghastly scene before me. The family Wacthers who I shall not name for my own personal beliefs were made up of four individuals: the father, who lived all his life in Diamond Lake came from a long line of miners. He married his home town sweet heart, who gave birth to his two children who were able to see eleven to eight years of their lives respectfully. From what I'm told, they troubled no one and were equally friendly and generally liked as neighbors. I found them gathered around the dinner table, spoiled meals resting on the table top, the table's linen stained with blotches of blood. Normally, I would avoid describing how the victims were killed in such a scene of violence, but you my apathetic reader should be warned.
  
  On their throats, they bore puncture wounds and the impression of teeth on their flesh. Others simply had their throats savaged and bore claw marks, which I was able to recognize belonging to a great hunting cat. And yes, they were drained of blood.
  
  When the mayor's men found the bodies and came to the same conclusive logic I shared on what killed them, the family Wacther were not afforded the proper burial they should had deserved. Instead, they were heaped and dumped together on a funeral pyre like plague victims. And in some sense, they were.

 

[Ghaelun HammerFrost]

aye it is strange indeed to be hearin these tails of horror. my spine tingles with both fear and excitment. i feel it is my responsibility to investigate these stranges happenins to see if ya be tellin the truth for sure. i only hope that i do not come to such an end as those poor souls whose bodies ya had been findin.


Ghaelun HammerFrost

 

[Dawn Herald]

Another parchment toughen by the weather is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship with the scent of laurels.

• After many days of searching the Gnarley Forest and dodging the steps of the goblin hunters that have been following me, I believe I've found what I was looking for. For our readers who do not know about the Gnarley Forest, its a great forest which is shared and contested by the neighboring city-states and the Pomarj. It is also the home of many druidical shrines shared by a pantheon of nature gods, be it the Old Faith or something inhuman. The first sign that I entered the Druid's Grove was the silence of the forest, as if the surrounding terrain was holding its breath due to my violation of this sacred ground. The only sound I could hear were the babbling currents of a nearby stream. I came upon a small stand of ancient oaks and aromatic laurels that invited the idea that the place is a sanctuary.
  
  According to folklore, this particular druid grove is a threshold between the worlds. A similar phenomenon of Ford Keep's famous Cross Roads Tavern and Tovag Baragu. The divisions between different planes of existence are usually unassailable, but in a multiverse where magic, psionics, and divine decree daily wrench reality into unnatural configurations, that which separates one space from the next can wear thin. A phenomenon that scholars call a planar breach. I theorize that the scarred stone located in the center of this grove, with the various offerings of flowers and candles surrounding it is the anchor that holds this place to this world. Probably related to Tovag's stone megaliths or the architectural secrets of the Cross Roads.
  
  My thoughts were disturbed when a melody echoed from the stream. Cautiously I approached, sticking to the shadows of the towering oaks with my imagination running wild at what could be the source of the singing. Was this the Druidess of the Grove? What I found bathing in the waters of the forest, I could only describe as a nymph. Tall with a small muscular build to her body, beige flesh, and luxurious platinum hair that spilled down to the middle of her back. She had elongated ears and cerulean eyes with vertical, feline silted pupils.
  
  I remained in my hiding place, spellbound by her beauty until I caught movement at the corner of my eye. A forest creature, a rabbit, approached the stream which I no doubt was also lured by the female's singing. Like a scene from the famous artist Walter Disnee, she hummed and scooped up the rabbit into her hands. She snuggled and whispered comforting words to it that I couldn't make out. And then like a scoundrel, looking right and then to left as if trying to spot if anyone was watching, she did something that sent a shiver down my spine. She open her mouth, her lips peeling back and revealing a maw of needle-thin teeth that sank into the rabbit's throat. She looked reptilian and need not describe any further on what happened.
  
  Making a hasty retreat, I could only recall stories of sylvan women luring and seducing human men to unknown fates.

 

[Mr kikonos]

I feel compelled by these grizzly happenings to join any who would help stop them from happening again.... though i myself come from feindish stock i cannot sit idly by and watch possible demons so these things

Adrean Kikonos

 

[Ruthia]

Passing by the boards one day, this woman with a small muscular build to her body, beige flesh, and luxurious platinum hair that spilled down to the middle of her back. She had elongated ears and cerulean eyes with vertical, feline silted pupils that squinted a bit as she read the long postings. She raises a brow and picks up a quill as if to reply....then stops and shakes her head, tilting it some. With a snort she puts the quill back down and turns, walking away....


o O(Naw it couldn't be....could it? Naw, no way.)

 

[Imreis]

*Someone peers across this and chuckles to himself at the physical descriptor and quickly jots down a note and tacts it up beside it*

"A beautiful nymphy goddess as such could never be of what mortals call 'normal'. One may stop and ponder a moments thought on what which is Fey and Sprite's to be calmly and serene. Though this knight does know of terror tales so dark that even the shadows do cringe. Blacker tea kettles have called and screamed to the divine of cauldron's being a shade to inky - though I believe that no cries will alter nor terrify this time. The shapely goddess be by comparison, none but my flower which blooms in snow and vines. The Snow Flower you call devourer and beast, Is nothing but thine most beautiful of flora in the field. No monsters here little dear bard."

*the letter is signed with the name 'Imreis the ever vigilant Vines'. Which under is the symbol of a leopards head in an open roar, em blazed over a shield*

 

[Dawn Herald]

Another parchment toughen is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship.

If you’re in a darkened room,
And a small candle is lit,
The darkness retreats away
From light the candle emits

If two rooms are side-by-side,
One is dark, the other, bright,
And a door opens between,
The dark is conquered by light!

So when your life seems dark,
Just remember this law:
Light always conquers darkness!
Soon the darkness will withdraw,
And your heart will become bright,
As it is filled with the light.
- E​

A message of hope. Copied from a forgotten stone monument within the ruins of Sonno Guasto, a village that was once the home to three hundred souls. I know this because the monument also shares three hundred stars etched on the stone to represent the fallen. No one remembers Sonno Guasto, but I do. Several years ago, a undead shade wielding a golden scythe reaped through the populace like a farmer to wheat. I was away at the time and way too late for my family.

This random act of violence was done to create fear. Sonno Guasto wasn’t the only forgotten village, as there were many others that fell to the scythe of these reapers, as the undead shade wasn’t the only terror. They were organized and came in large numbers. Eventually, a crusader from another world had gotten tired of the attacks and organized a group of like minded individuals. This Alliance fought back against the darkness and as months passed, won. There was no more attacks and the group of like minded individuals parted to go their separate ways. As time passed, a few of these adventurers would form their own groups. Today, when I ask people about what ever happened to the crusader, people would make jokes and ridicule the whole event. Three hundred people died, my family included among the stars. Sonno Guasto itself is only three days travel from Ford Keep. I could only imagine they could see the smoke on the horizon when Sonno Guasto died that day. And unfortunately, this is still happening.

I once met a man from Hardby. He told me, "This is the nature of the world. People die and you must accept it." I can’t accept it. It’s no laughing matter to me. Not when your a victim. He laughed at me and patted my knee. He then told me, "Then be a fool and do something about it"

 

[Mr kikonos]

Your tale remind me of what happened within the boundries of fords keep to my daughter... though i'm sure noone had fallen in love with the shade with the scythe...*the writing is faded with tears*... i would like to speak with you Dawn Herald if i can.. as i would like to lear more of this shade and if it still has it's unlife

 

[Dawn Herald]

Another parchment toughen is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship.

It is unfortunate that we cannot meet stranger, for I rather keep my identity unknown to protect myself against the predators and shapeshifters that roam these lands. But, I encourage you and everyone else that seeks to investigate these things to look not far afield. For the greatest enemy will hide in the last place you ever look. There are dark events happening around you, conducted in the shadows. All you need is to illuminate these things and bring attention to it. For there is no avoiding war, it can only be postponed to the advantage of your enemy. The shade of my past is long gone, along with that old war.

• Few dispute that trade is the life’s blood of the Free City of Greyhawk. Certainly, the free city’s Directing Oligarchs have no illusions as to whence their wealth and power derive. Thus, when the Greyhawk Wars brought fire and ruin to their borders over a decade ago, the Oligarchs moved decisively. At their direction, a string of keeps was built to secure the routes along which Greyhawk’s trade flowed.
  
  One of the most important of these is Ford Keep, some ten leagues south of Greyhawk City along the Selintan River. Ford Keep guards Wainford, the point where the Western Road from Dyvers crosses the Selintan and joins the River Road. Thus, Ford Keep commands one of only three fords along the Selintan, the river itself (Greyhawk’s main artery of trade) and the junction of two main roads, one leading to Greyhawk’s main rival, Dyvers, the other to Hardby and the northern Wild Coast.
  
  The keep’s strategic importance was not lost on the dwarven engineers who built it in 585 CY. The square donjon tower is constructed from Cairn Hills granite and is surrounded by a square of 20 feet high curtain walls topped with parapets and crenulations and bolstered by four corner towers and a gatehouse. The walls are in turn encompassed by a moat fed by the waters of the nearby Selintan. A drawbridge provides access to the gatehouse, where two pairs of ironbound bronzewood gates, three iron portcullises, and a plethora of arrow loops and murder holes ward the enclosed passage into the bailey. Besides the donjon tower, the bailey holds a barracks for the garrison, stables for the keep’s cavalry troop and a smithy. A well and an extensive food store in the basement of the tower ensure that the garrison can withstand a lengthy siege without fear of hunger or thirst.
  
  I spoke with the keep's sergeant at arms about local threats when I informed her of my travelogue. In short she described to me that bandits are a perennial threat to trade along river and road and was able to describe some of the bandit bands that plagued the region. One such group is a band of highway men known as Apathy. These highwaymen often lay in wait on the main roads radiating from Greyhawk City. They usually chose lonely areas of woodland when they made their strikes of stand and deliver. The sergeant at arms also informed me that the penalty for robbery with violence was hanging, and most notorious highwaymen ended on the gallows. A fate that she looks forward to with the leader of Apathy. When I attempted to inquire her about the supernatural threats to the region, especially the planar nature of the inn across from the main gates of the keep, I found my interview cut short. Ford Keep and the neighboring hamlet of Wainford contains a host of stories that could easily fill a book on its own. From three years ago, when a burnt down smithy was discovered with the bodies of a dozen wolves during the time of lycanthropy scares. To dopplegangers from another world trying to replace their counterparts in this world.

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ooc note: this article heavily borrows from the living greyhawk write up of Ford keep which can be found on this site: mysterious places and be used for your personal home campaigns. Also information on the hamlet of Wainford is located in this article.