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 A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood

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GMPurplefixer



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PostSubject: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Fri Oct 27, 2017 6:10 pm

From the Journal of Moore, Human Weaponsmith

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Faced with the prospect of living his life with a deformed beak, my good friend Alari asked for my help in performing a favor for the Questors of Garlen. We struck out with Wizard and Cavalier in tow to seek the lost grove of the questor's blessed flowers, and our journey took us far into the hinterland north of the Throal Mountains.

This blighted place was home to packs of rotting wolves, bears benighted by infected sores, and and all the rotting children of Raggok. His cultists were thick in the place, and they chased us to the knees of the very grove we sought, while we struggled against their insidious razors and omnipresent poisons. The merest touch of their blades opened injuries bone deep, and layed thick in our veins poisons that rob of strength and volition, while we struggled to make even a single step into the darkened copse only yards away from us.

Our victory was narrow, to be sure, and I suffered so many terrible wounds that my comrades practically had to carry me on. Worse, when we arrived, the questors themselves were made hideous caricatures of life by the cultists dark magics. We skewered them through the bars of their dark cages until they suffered no more, released to Garlen's breast, and made way with the precious flowers of the grove, to return to the temple in Throal.

Greeted well, they heaped on us welcome healing both at hand and to take with us on our future adventures. I fear, though, that my flesh will forever bear some of the thin white scars where I could see down to my bones by their razor edges. It will certainly bear the memory.
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PostSubject: Re: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Fri Oct 27, 2017 6:28 pm

From the Journal of Moore, Human Weaponsmith

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Merlho, my brother in steel, asked me to force a task on my adventuring companions to seek out new resources for our Brotherhood. The smiths of Throal are hungry and have been for some time, champing at reused iron and the slow digging at the veins beneath the mountain's foot. From within our tomb I had always heard complaint of the quality of iron, of our slowly diminishing supply, as pots and pans were turned to knives, and knives to pots and pans, an endless cycle of reforging and recasting occasionally brightened by new steel preciously scavenged from that which was once precious, be it air-ship or ancient armor.

Setting out south we followed the river to the mountain's foot, within sight of Travar's bright dome yet some seventy miles distant, and lost ourselves promptly in the hills. Upon the road we encountered the most curious creatures, which I had heard of only in stories.

The Chakta Bird is possessed of the most beautiful black feathers, chased with patterns on each edge of gilt like gold, and they have curiously wise eyes. This is proper, since they greet travelers with some caution, and insist on a kind of decorum of the road. I am not one to trust such a beast, but knowing this bit of trivia I engaged them with polite bows, and bit my tongue to allow my good friends to speak on my behalf.

Speaking of which, this day was the first I met Krel An Travar, a Troll of the Travar Moot. He is unkempt, as far as trolls go, with tawny hair like a lion's mane and twisted, side-facing horns, and his nails are always ragged - This makes sense, however, as the nails are as often jagged claws with which he strikes upon his prey; The Troll is a Beastmaster of some skill. Upon querying if he could calm the Genhis we later encountered and made our meal of, he said "I am not that kind." and proceeded to slay the thing.

No sooner had we dispatched the mother, however, when we came across its brood. I am well informed as to the habits of the Genhis, as well, and we girded our legs and walked warily into the carnage left behind. A small encampment of Ogres seemed to be our destination, and after dispatching the one swarthy beast (we decided it better to eliminate the idiot creatures rather than bother my brothers with their temperamental bartering) we knocked the swarm into a mine dug by ogre hands. The creatures have some affinity with elemental earth, and their mine was of value, so one by one we cleared the knock-jawed, razor-toothed, grinning little monsters from the face of Barsaive.

After fishing free what appeared to be a genhis birthing sack we had a look around the mine, discovering elemental earth, crystal, and iron. An excellent find. Also we stumbled over the raw corpse of an Ogress shaman, upon whom the genhis had been feeding. A nasty sight to be sure.

Merlho was very pleased with the news, and I took as my sole recompense for the task the excess of his and the rest of the brotherhood's stocks. Merchants from Travar are already starting to move between Throal and the Bright City, and I hope to hear of the frustration of Travari merchants as they discover a precious mine right on their doorstep is owned by my friend a thousand miles the other direction!

A note to self: I've begun work on a trophy necklace for Krel An. He seemed very keen on the bits of the creatures we met. Using a spindle awl and hand drill I've very carefully threaded holes through the roots of the genhis teeth, and little drifts of silver and elemental earth to make the cores of the chakta feathers strong. Three teeth, feather, two teeth, feather, one tooth, and then some further decoration, I think. A thin strip of the supple and strong genhis sack leather will make an excellent start for the thong. Needs centerpiece.
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PostSubject: Re: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Sat Oct 28, 2017 12:03 am

The Delver's Athanaeum thanks Moore for these additions to our archives.

Rewards:
Garlen's Grove: 50 silver and 25 legend points.
Brotherhood of Steel: 93 silver and 46 legend points.
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PostSubject: Re: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Yesterday at 4:49 am

On old entry from Moore's first journal:

The tale of the Iceclaw Moot:
 
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PostSubject: Re: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Yesterday at 4:51 am

The second entry from Moore's first journal:

Of the Horrible Wolf-Father:
 
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PostSubject: Re: A Final Tally, In Iron and Blood   Yesterday at 5:13 am

From the Journal of Moore, Human Weaponsmith

The day dawned like any other, but it would see my most difficult challenge yet.

Given leave to catch the wind on the only private Airship in Travar, the Cape Wrath I was secretly elated to be leaving the ground behind for my first trip into the sky. Thane Cawdor, a heroic Troll who follows the old Way of the Sky Raider managed to 'convince' Captain Corvus to lead us on this merry voyage to a broken kaer that the ship spotted from the sky on its forays into Death's Sea. Since the beginning of the Scourge the Cape Wrath has been in mothballs, her owners heaping aside money that weakened their house, only to make a killing at the end of the Scourge when their sole Airship was capable of streaking westward to harvest the necessary Elemental Fire to build -more- airships, so coveted by the City of Merchant's growing economy.

Thanks to our combat skills and enthusiasm, the air sailors shined to us fairly well, and we muddled through the travels until we reached the site, whereupon Captain Corvus promptly had us all escorted down by airboat. We traveled through the poisoned hills across somewhat marshy terrain until we entered the area of the kaer mouth, where we immediately spotted a group of trolls. Ascertaining arms and armor we approached with empty hands, offering hellos and waving them over.

They were brusque, to say the least. It wasn't until too late we recognized they'd patched together the hides of obsidimen to wear as armor, and their loathesome sneers I will not soon forget. Even Heartscry was silenced by the jeers and spitting of a foul brute who rose from behind stones with a bow the height of an elf. I have an admitted fondness for the great stone people, with their patience and their easy way, and to see the sneering face of a trog peering out from under his broken teeth and stitched back lips filled me with a rage I've never before known. I drew my blade and immediately went to work hacking the beastmaster apart, while his honorless ally retreated into the kaer mouth, shouting for help. Only too late we realized an archer also on guard was a crack shot, and he nearly killed Heartscry with a single arrow!

Thane and I battled the two trolls to a standstill, but it was a narrow thing, and afterward we were sorely pressed to move on. We shared our potions, however, and ascertaining Heartscry's health, she cast her 'make otherwhere' upon us, and we ventered into the dark, lit by Thane's crystal torch.

I held the light for the party as we went down stairs carved by clumsy hands, and by the time we realized this was more storage bolt-hole than kaer, we were too late, the bear was upon us. It charged and fell instantly to the spikes of Thane's mace and my sharp, scythan axe, but it proved to be only a baby, the enraged mother tossing a mangled troll corpse aside and charging us from the dark. The baby fell in one, but the mother we fought for a long minute, safe only thanks to Heartscry's frantic spellcasting.

Just outside the chamber strewn with the carcasses of Trolls stuffed into the skins of obsidimen in some kind of horror's parody, the floor of rough stone gave way to first worked stone, then solid slate pavers and a water-feature. Water is well-known to repel some horrors, and it seemed we might be on the verge of coming to a proper kaer, when a bellow from within the hall (only maybe six yards wide?) heralded the shrieking approach of a horned bear that Heartscry tells me is called a 'Brithain'. Part elemental spirit, these creatures are apparently possessed of uncanny intelligence for an animal, and a peculiar sense of sportsmanship.

Thane agreed to challenge the thing one on one... and it promptly splattered him against the floor like a child hurling a bell-pepper in a temper tantrum. His hard leather armor split down one seam and his blood splashed against the wall, and I had the passion's own time dragging his huge body away to a safe distance, which for some reason the Brithain proudly let us do, chortling after us as we 'fled its territory'.

Forced to retreat or miss our ride, we related our story to the sailors of the Cape Wrath to much laughter and catcalls, but they fed us and tended our wounds enthusiastically, and no one begrudged us our losses. Still, these ugly trolls worry me, and I wonder if the world is not made greatly worse for the Horror's Passing. Surely no one in the past would have done such a loathesome thing...
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