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

[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.