"Second Son of a Second Son" - Bleys' Journal

[Rastfar]

5 Ter, 637 M.Y.

I had always heard of Malcolm the Bronze. We all had. He was one of those I had romanticized the idea of, though now I am not so sure that he was deserving of my idolatry. Where was the duly designated Watch-Mage while Quillton’s residents were under attack? Where was Sir Malcolm the Bronze while Thricia’s citizenry were being sacrificed? And for what was their sacrifice? For one man to attempt to recapture his youth? A self-satisfying escapade? To slake some personal adventure?

I had heard of Malcolm the Bronze’s reputation. We all had. To my dismay I discover that absent is synonymous with irresponsible. Are these scathing accusations? Maybe. But I say they are bitter truths. Do the good deeds outweigh the bad? I am not Osiris, but perhaps Felix Wayhand and his son are asking the same question. Perhaps had we been able to send a faultless ahead, Tolvin Kentai would not be hearing his judgment now. Sir Malcolm should have been waiting at the Vanderboren manse for the arrival of the murderers.

As am I, Malcolm the Bronze is a graduate of the adventuring curriculum. Thus I know that he holds the ideas of exploration and discovery, the appeal of thrill-seeking and risk, dear in his heart of hearts. Would that he had the wisdom to know when to request reassignment, aid, or replacement there would be three less deaths to account for. How many others may have suffered in the past?

While I am eager to receive his advice, learn from one I had always wished to emulate, and make him proud by returning the token trophy, any such accomplishments will be sour. Is it possible that he would wish to steal the credit for the return of a religious relic? Telemakhos would have me believe it possible. I must be certain to independently declare our intention of its pursuit to a third party, unconnected, so that we will be able to better lay claim to the return of this blessed amulet of Fallon, before handing it to Malcolm for presentation. Leisel of Isis, in Sluetelot, she will know how to aid me.

The more I see, the more I grow contemptuous of the old guard. I begin to fathom how easy it is for Markos to remain disdainful. To be a knight is an honour and a life style, not an honorarium for a stylish life. I find another man expected to embody knightly virtue, measured and found wanting.


‘It is the responsibility of the young to keep the venerated honest.‘

 

[Rastfar]

6 Ter, 637 M.Y

The others have gone and I welcome the break. The tides have carried their ship away and the tension between us all with it. I remain behind here in the Vanderboren manse, enjoying the hospitality of Lady Lavinia. Also sharing her company are Victoria and Laarus of Ra. I have not seen Maeve since our last talk, nor any of the other Jade Ravens for that matter. Perhaps she is avoiding me.

Laarus concedes to experiencing visions. While I am calmed to discover he does not suffer some gnawing malady, I find that I am more than a little disturbed by the idea of one of our number having unpredictable foresight. Such divination that he admits is not bestowed by Ra. And such prescience that he assures always come to pass. Should I believe Laarus’ claims true, and I have no reason to consider him beguiling us, this means that Telemakhos is destined to meet with a fiery end. Not on my watch.

But where and why; from what do these premonitions derive? Is Laarus in some danger that he is not telling us of? Or, worse yet, some danger he knows not of? Is it possible that in some way he may be a threat to us?

 

[Rastfar]

7 Ter, 637 M.Y


Without all of the distraction and hullabaloo I have been able to clearly begin thinking more about Vanthus Vanderboren and his connection to a plot against the Wetherwax fleet. What work would need be begun only after crippling the RMN? The parallels are entirely too intentional to ignore.

The indistinguishable figure who met with Vanthus in Azure could be any of the three whom I had overheard during this Festival of Isis past. Or one of their agents? This connection alone, would lead me to believe that perhaps Vanthus is an unwilling pawn in their game. For while the Devenpecks alone do not wield immutable power, the suggestion of involvement by the Vandermok’s and those who serve the god of power is enough to hold sway over Vanthus, his parents or the Vanderboren Mercantile Nexus. But what advantage could Vanthus be hoping to gain?

Vanderboren, Vandermok, is there a possibility that the families are indeed related, a genealogical offshoot, or is it merely coincidence? So the correlation would stand.

Markos has taken to calling the religious relics of Vanthus’ pursuit, Pearls of Power. Malcolm the Bronze declared that this is a misnomer as the Pearls of Power that he knows of are divine items, holy to Tefnut, but allowed for those dedicated to other gods as well. They are used to enhance the castings of priestly spells, presumably to whichever god they are in service to. Malcolm assures me that the two are distinctly different, not one in the same. Only that this is a ‘pearl’ of some power.

Yet I must allow for the facts presented before me. This pearl was of some power, was sought after by religious fanatics, be they bullywugs, and so was possibly dedicated to whatever fish-mouthed god they sacrifice rats to. Assuming that the pearl we came into contact with, its purposeful intention was certainly not to be smashed. Vanthus’ blood caused the transformation. I must assume that this was an unwelcome side effect

I shall remember to give the young mage clarification so he does not labour to research them wrongly.

 

[Rastfar]

8 Ter, 637 M.Y

I was overcome in the romanticism of the moment. I bent the knee. I made a vow. And one I may not be able to practically keep. Such a fool am I. Perhaps it was the moon air, the breath of Isis blown into my chest. The Lady Lavinia certainly does not want for looks. As she sat there, alone, forlorn, with seemingly naught else in the world, I was reminded of Paulien and how she must feel: like a ship listing in a storm, no beacon in sight, no safe haven, no harbour, and no escape.

To play at being a knight is a dangerous game, and now I have forced another to lay her woes upon my shoulders. I must now honour my word, for the emotional investment I have wrested from her, lest she be buoyed by false hope.

 

[el-remmen]

I really like how this journal is starting to really supplement the "main" story hour - for example, the last two entries really shed light on the last InterSession installment with Bleys and Victoria approaching Weirspierogen.

Keep up the good work!

 

[Rastfar]

26 Ter, 637 M.Y

Garkhan the Green. Garkhan the Garbage-Picker. The grubby, the grotesque, the gross, grimy, grungy, grody. I had heard all of these names used in reference to our illustrious watch-mage, wielding some myself as a child. He has no knighthood and I dare suggest that he never will even be considered. Why should he? He has done nothing to distinguish himself. He boasts no fantastic deeds or heroics against odds unnumbered. Yet, I now begin to see Garkhan for what he really is. A real Watch-Mage, much more worthy of emulation than many of these so-called virtuous paragons. He may be peculiar, odd, and prone to foul stench, but his heart is large, his honour strong, his perceptions and priorities clear.

Having grown up in Weirspeirogen, being of common blood, and now serving as his people’s protector, Garkhan the Green has a perspective unique to those lives his lies entwined with. I am given the impression that he harbours umbrage for House Devenpeck, as there is overtly no love lost by the noble family for their watch-mage. He has given me hospitality this night, and allowed me to make pleasantries and ask my humble questions. He found opportunity to subtly interrogate me in return, measuring me, trying to gauge me as a man, a mage. Thinly veiled insinuation has me believe that House Devenpeck would much rather see him replaced with someone younger, more suitable to their agenda, more appropriate of their station and in line with their paradigm.

Me.

Brilliant really, for whatever suggestion House Devenpeck must have sown in my father’s ears, Callum would not know it to be serving as a means to manipulative end. And insightful. Garkhan is clearly more clever and understanding of Weirspeirogen’s political trickeries than he is ever given credit for. Having glimpsed such rare insight into the true man, witnessing his pride, affinity for his home, love for his people, despite reputation and mockery, I am forced to concede that I believe he is fully aware of all his actions. He likely employs his full faculties to continue with the façade of Garkhan the Garbage-Picker, shrewd in that he is utterly seen as an eccentric figurehead.

And so now I must reflect and wonder: what kind of impression have I left with him? For it is Garkhan who provides me with fables of a box of wands. Would he intentionally lead me astray? Would he tempt me to search out such an item while at the King Stones, knowing it did not exist? I must trust in my instinct in this. The answer must be no.

‘Language most shews a man. Speak that I may see thee.’

 

[Rastfar]

28 Ter, 637 M.Y

When Markos went missing as a child, many of the Raymer clan spent much time, cost, and energy in search if him. Several even called in favours of others even more powerful. Neither the divinations of exalted wizards, nor the prayers of a House dedicated to Ra yielded results, however. Whoever abducted him was certainly with means and purpose. What kind of power must said individual possess to shield Markos from such scrying eyes? And to what end? This information makes the boy more sympathetic, but suspect as well.

‘Family is our anchor; if we lose it we are lost.’

 

[Rastfar]

2 Quark, 637 M.Y


I have confided in Victoria my secret regarding my patron House. I admit that I entrust much in her confidence, but I hold faith in her honour and being beholden to those whom are ostensibly friends. I regret not having seen the wisdom in informing her before we sojourned to Weirspeirogen.

 

[Rastfar]

9 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Finally, we are off to the Disputed Territories. We have re-hired Falco and Dunlevey, after negotiating terms more to their liking. It shall be a long road ahead but I welcome the journey. I have longed to see the Thrician countryside for many years now and am keen to delve deeper into the cultural history of our roots which derived from the Time of the Six Kingdoms. The Borderlands and beyond should prove thrilling.

‘The more I travel, the less I know.’

 

[Rastfar]

10 Quark, 637 M.Y.

I have met Terrance the Yellow, an amiable man. He guided me toward Jacoba the Brown in the Border Shires should the need arise. I do not anticipate needing to seek her out, but I must at least announce my presence in the area to her should the opportunity arise. It would be good to hear her perspective of the rumours involving the Kingdom of the Red God that in part lead us here. It is possible that she too may know more about the King Stones or the Moor Tombs.

 

[Rastfar]

12 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Now I have opportunity to know halflings as they are on their terms, not adapted to life in our cities and towns. Here in such serene scenery it is easy to see how the little folk live at a slower pace in life. I would easily forget that they have noble houses at court like my charter companions.

 

[Rastfar]

13 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Our guide is a rugged little man named Kermit Buckleburr. He oozes disdain for us, but likes our coin well enough. He keeps a dog whom he calls friend but rides as a mount: Duckhunter. At least he is friendly. For the same share as Falco and Dunlevey he will lead us past all dangers in the Disputed Territories to the Ray-Ree and the King Stones. Seems a convenient arrangement for him of course if there is no real threat. And obviously should we happen upon some danger, he will no doubt excuse it as unavoidable and entirely not his fault. He has agreed to keep the horses while we delve. I must ask Telemakhos if his fee includes grooming or would those services cost extra.

 

[Rastfar]

15 Quark, 637 M.Y.

While it has always been rumoured that followers of the Red God venture into the Disputed Territories, we now know that such suppositions are not only true but very much prolific. We encountered the remains of a raiding party who had obviously run afoul of a halfling ranging who took none too kindly to the incursion in their lands. It appears that the raiders never even had a chance to draw their weapons. The rangers slew them all with arrows. Their horses as well. Only two survived. A sole man was conscious, Cosimo Najem, a fresh-faced young man with nary a whisker.

Falco and Tymon find it suspicious that the Red God worshippers were raiding with horses in tow as it is not in their religious doctrine to employ the steeds. The boy informs us that the Missionary leading them had been responsible for the equine inclusion.

Could he be some unorthodox or secular rogue? Could he be a pretender leading zealots astray to mount a holy war? Who would most stand to gain from a holy war of the Red God against Thricia and Isis? Perhaps upon our return to the Bordershires we may glean more information from Jacoba the Brown or the rangers who took plunder from the men. Their personals may hold some further clue.

 

[el-remmen]

One of the things I love about this journal is the chance to ruminate on things that otherwise seem forgotten in the game.

 

[Rastfar]

One of the things I love about this journal is the chance to ruminate on things that otherwise seem forgotten in the game.

What I love about this journal is the further insight into Bleys' character and the evidence of how he thinks. While some mystery or tidbit of information may arise, he obviously does not always react to the information. In fact, we get to see just how long he may digest and sift the information before he does indeed address it, days or even weeks later.

 

[Rastfar]

18 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Dragons! And where there are young ones, a mother is sure to be. We are lucky to have only been blundered upon by the former. Never would I have expected to encounter the awesome species as we only ever know them in fable and legend. Even one so young, they are amazingly agile, cat-like quick, and instinctively savvy. It was naught but the length of a man and already it had teeth as large as dirks. Its supple form belied its strength and stamina; ferociously it was able to lash out tearing metal as if it were flesh. The bright green wyrmling endured many mighty blows and still exercised its animalistic skill for survival, escaping us. And perhaps we are the better for it. Its death would surely have led to ours, hunted in the vast open of the Disputed Territories. Should Thricia ever entertain hopes of reclaiming these lands, this is indeed another peril that will need to be considered and weighed into any such decision.

‘Only those who look with the eyes of children can lose themselves in the object of their wonder.’

 

[Rastfar]

20 Quark, 637 M.Y.

We have completed the journey to our destination, having found the Ray-Ree to be exactly as described, amenable to exchange. Our hosts hold a tentative grasp on their land, exacerbated by the absence of their warrior-tribesmen, who have all sojourned to a council of chieftains. There all the tribes of the Disputed Territories are gathering to decide how to respond to the incursions of Red God worshippers. It is plain to see that these nomadic barbarians, descendants of old Thrician blood lines while the Sunrads still lived, serve as an unwitting buffer toward the safety of Thricia proper. In a land dominated by denizens ranging from goblinoid to giant, we find most advantageous allies who demand nothing in exchange.

They are no less cultured, gracious, or respectful than their fable would have one believe. In welcome we are feasted upon a meal that would feed their hungry clan for a month. The land here is hard, and the bounty is sparse. I find them to be exemplary of ideals chivalrous, an entirely unexpected outcome.

As a gesture of our good faith we have set to aiding them in the maintenance of their status quo. Their midwife, an herbalist, delivers a brew to the local bugbear chieftain, which placates his desire for feud with the Ray-Ree. Bruggah serves as a barrier between these lands and the more wicked creatures lurking in the Tar Fain hills beyond; to treat with him is to curry favour with life. The bugbear chieftain may be being manipulated by Hezrah Blacktooth, an outcast, who was once the pupil of Rudwilla of the Toadstools. She is a witch among other things: a wielder of the forbidden arts, and breeder of orc blood. Perhaps it is her aim to steal the secrets of the brew from Rudwilla, kill her, and in so doing forge an alliance with Bruggah against her former tribesmen. First Elder Admentus tells us that she is accompanied by four half-orc children at the least, whose hearts are no less dark than hers.

We have been forced to continue without our strongest sword-arm. Timotheus has the bog flu. The journey coupled with the fermented goat’s milk must have been too much for him. I will hone my blade 60 more strokes this evening, and beseech of Falco more arrows.

 

[Rastfar]

21 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Hezrah Blacktooth has escaped us. After tracking her to a ruined keep on these borderlands, she allowed us to slay her sons, giving her time long enough to make due her escape. We have returned Rudwilla to her work and will watch carefully this night. We have not seen the last of the dark witch, of that I am certain.

 

[Rastfar]

22 Quark, 637 M.Y.

Again we encountered the foul workings of Hezrah Black-tooth and her brood. And again her plans have been thwarted, and progeny slain. But still she eludes us. The rival bugbear shaman she wished to prop up has been slain, certainly this will bring the Ray-Ree their sense of normalcy for some time to come. I do not relish the notion of leaving enemies behind me on a field of battle. I fear they never wholly flee, and linger in their shadowy recesses only long enough to find opportunity to strike most unsuspecting. We should hunt her. We should kill her.

We have voted and will speak with Brother Cineas, hoping to glean more information about the moors and the King Stones, before we make a decision upon which avenue to pursue next.

At the evening meal provided by our hosts, I again noted Timotheus drinking much of the fermented goat’s milk. The fool, should he prove unable to aid us again due to his weak constitution or will, I shall be very cross.

 

[Rastfar]

23 Quark, 637 M.Y.

This afternoon we visited Brother Cineas, a monk of Anubis who defends the mounds where the Ray-Ree inter their dead. He is a young and blunt man, stalwart in his duty. Yet, if he does not allow for some measure of precaution or foresight, eventually his position will be overrun by the ghouls which issue forth from this ‘Devoured Town’.

He offered little knowledge of the King Stones, though I feel his opinions have done much to assuage Laarus’ concerns about our journey there. He knew aught more about Dalvan Meir’s tomb.

Tomorrow we march for the King Stones.