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

[el-remmen]

I love how this journal supplements the main story hour, sometimes giving insight into Bleys' point of view and sometimes adding a level of detail that the narrative version of the campaign makes difficult to include w/o bogging it down (which I think is easier to accomplish in the first person/journal-style).

Keep it up!

I only wish the subscription feature of the boards wasn't broken, so it wouldn't take me two days to notice when you've updated!

 

[Rastfar]

ASIDE: I am slowly (slowly) painting miniatures for the entirety of the PC party (and some NPC's as well...). And it occurs to me that others (the three people who do read this SH) may wish to see them. So, if all of you would like, I can see about taking pictures of them and posting them here as I complete them. I've only got three done so far (I won't tell you which ones), and am hoping that those PC's don't die and backlog my 'to do' figs too much by creating new PC's for me to paint.

 

[Rastfar]

Here are a few pictures of the miniature that I painted for Laarus. I did modify him slightly, to have a bald head, before I painted him. I would welcome any and all feedback...enjoy

 

[Rastfar]

7 Keent, 637 M.Y.


The tomb of Dalvan d’Ambervile is cold and dark, supernaturally so, and I do not deny that I am glad to be free of its confines. But I must go back. Our avenue of egress was one of our own design, not his, so we do not carry the boon which I seek. But it will not be easy. The others are squeamish, rightfully so, Dalvan’s arrogance and cunning are enough to test any man’s mettle. We have the masks bearing the runic signature of the Ancients. They are the key to unlocking the secret of Dalvan Meir’s third puzzle:

Desire for gold may secrets show, but giving stills the fatal blow.​

The mask of avarice, I will wager it.



We have been fortunate to have blundered into the treasure room of a brigand crew with the moniker of ‘the Dead Men’. They no longer occupy the lair, as they have been dispatched by ‘the Broken Circle’. It seems that our fates are intertwined, a common foe – The Nine - unites us. Here we will find respite and with clarity of purpose will make the decision which shall prove to lead us.


‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.’

 

[Rastfar]

Here are a few pictures of the miniature that I painted for Telemakhos: everyone's favorite libertine. I would welcome any and all feedback...enjoy

 

[Rastfar]

8 Keent, 637 M.Y.

The green stone that serves as a fundamental warding of the place is vile. Even after removing a fist-sized hunk from the black hill, its effects reach out to pervade our sanctuary.

Amongst the treasures we have located a copy of The Prophetic Visions of the One, a rubar tome written by a prophet named Crimson. I find it compelling, and curious. Could there hold some clue therein that predicts war or peace now, in this time, our age, between Thricia and the Kingdom of the Red God of the West?

Fallon, if that is her name, seems to be the one amongst the Broken Circle who makes the decisions. Is it coincidental that one bearing the name of the goddess whose relic lies in this remote place should find us here?

She has given us more information about the Nine. Much more. I query how one that is seemingly so frail, can be so well-informed in this most remote place. Of course none of the others so much as blinked at the information that we were simply spoon-fed. Their continual acceptance of all information based upon blind faith with no reason to test the veracity otherwise will someday doom us.

 

[Rastfar]

9 Keent, 637 M.Y.

I owe much to Bes and Isis for we are to return to the tomb. Tomorrow we will best Dalvan d’Amberville or die trying. I can only hope that we prove successful. I have driven the Charter here, against many of their wills; at times I felt as if I was alone in wishing to undertake this quest. But the glory that the recovery of Fallon’s Amulet shall bring us will be reward far greater than any treasure we can hope to find therein. Will my conscience prove me penitent if my goals cost us lives?

 

[Rastfar]

10 Keent, 637 M.Y.

The ghastly thing claiming to be Dalvan has been dispatched. It has made ransack of the area it has been confined to, and what little intelligence it may have once possessed has been warped by myriad hours of solitude, silence, and darkness. Do undead creatures feel the compulsion to rest, to sleep? An ironic end for one who sought immortality.

The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb.​

This was the first of our trials. It was a simple enough climb to ascend the keyhole tower in order to find the location of Dalvan Meir’s tomb. The assumption is that those seeking it do so in search of immortality, as did his adherents and those who sought to emulate him in life.

The gold you give pays well in kind. Give well when asked and safety find.​

By crossing the water and depositing coins in the bronze bowl we were able to gain admittance to Dalvan’s tomb.

Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow.​

After doing so, we unlocked the secrets of the masks and employed ‘avarice’ to show us our path, and ‘generosity’ to open the way.

The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb.​

We then followed the narrow hall to a seemingly bottomless shaft. There we descended into the dark, aided by the hand-holds carved from the stone.

Those crossing deeps to gain the ground. May fall as biting fear is found.​

As we exited the shaft, we found ourselves in a large chamber, the majority of which was occupied by a pool of acid. A trap left along the narrow walkway was designed to upset those along it into the caustic depths. Fortunately for us we found most of the acid evaporated, if not concentrated. The statue guardian was a fearsome opponent.

One’s days can ne’er be forged anew, But magic may give great their due.​

This must be the final riddle, and herein lies our secret to escape. But what does it mean? Magic. Perhaps one of these potions is the answer.

There is one final warding on what must be the final door between us and our successes. It does not bode well, for we have no means beyond the mundane to dispel it.


'Mystery creates wonder and wonder is the basis of man's desire to understand.'

 

[Rastfar]

11 Keent, 637 M.Y.

One’s days can ne’er be forged anew, But magic may give great their due.​

Could it be that this refers to the trial of the tomb itself. Why one would undertake the quest to unearth Dalvan’s secrets.

The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb.​

And that this riddle is indeed the last, as it could have been the first? Dalvan could not have known who would come to his tomb. Who would prove successful in besting his riddles. Yet, if the ghoulish Dalvan is to be believed, it is just such an individual whom the wizard would have looked to become. A nefarious necromancer’s plot: to establish in death a means to secure renewed life by challenging all those who seek your treasure. And in the end they are instead your reward, cunning enough to best your riddles, strong enough to conquer your traps, what better candidate for possession. But still, unknowing of just whom that may be, Dalvan must have had the insight to have left himself a mundane means of escape. It is known that halflings boast no power over the arcane, and dwarves only in legend. Would he be willing to risk that it would not be one of the demi-races? I should think not. I must find a means for us to make our exodus. The clues must lie in the patchwork ravings of this lunatic minds’ collage.

 

[Rastfar]

12 Keent, 637 M.Y.

We have done it. The amulet of Fallon will be returning to Thricia with us where it will once again be used for good. While it has been thrilling to spend this time in the Disputed Territories it is time to leave, the others long for a return to civilization. I shall miss these adventures as I find that they heighten my senses, making me feel truly alive.

Through force of muscle and will, Timotheus dug us from the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville, but still I am baffled. This is most certainly not how the necromancer planned his own escape. We missed something. But what was it? I still cannot understand what Dalvan had planned. The only answer I do not have is to the identity of the last remaining potions. Could this have been it?

‘The moment of victory is much too short to live for that and nothing else.’