??? (Siurlang)

An excerpt from the newly renovated Journal Of Siurlang.

Musings of an Orc 001 - From the Middle

I feel it is perhaps time I started to chronicle both the unfolding events and some of my past. My feet are on the path that will lead to the founding of House Grey, and it is only right that future generations know of their lineage.

After years of wandering the frontiers of civilisation, I have inadvertently ended up in the employ of a Lord. He has hired himself a group of sell swords and is purging barbarism from the area surrounding his castle, with the ultimate goal of crushing Rappan Athuk. I decided to apply myself to this worthy task and only found out later that he was nobility. Happy coincidence indeed. While he is weak and needs rescuing from the most innocuous situations, he doesn't let that deter him. He does not ask anything of us that he is unwilling to do himself. I respect that. It should also be mentioned that he is a Tengu - in my idle moments I find myself wondering how much he tastes like chicken. Despite my curiosity, I should keep him alive. He might be the means by which I fulfill my promise.

Also of note is the Halforc. He has embraced the ways of our ancestral enemy which is unusual enough, and he carries himself with an air that reminds me of my mother - may Telophus and Vanitthu nourish and protect her soul. I do not yet know of his role in my destiny, perhaps he serves to remind me that all are equal in the eyes of the law. Or perhaps he is nothing more but a reminder of my past. Either way, I am glad to have met him.

The remainder are a rag-tag bunch of humanoids. I do not much care for them. They squabble and argue and babble about truth and justice and goodness. Then a light breeze comes, they fall over and start to bleed out. May the Gods grant me the patience to see this through to the end.

My journey with the Company thus far has been somewhat uneventful. We have killed a couple of groups of bandits and ventured into the Mouth of Doom. Strangely enough, the dungeon itself is more of a hazard than its inhabitants. The place is rife with traps and, judging by the frequency of the cave-ins, made by dwarves. Or kobolds. Or kobolds riding dwarves. Nothing would surprise me any more. The monsters found so far could serve as a bestiary check list. Jellies and oozes and blood suckers. All deserving of death, but hardly something one celebrates about after a victory.

Next time I shall pen something about my years of wandering. It was not a grand time, but one I would do well not to forget either.

Kruin 1 - notes on killing druids

The folk a my village always wanted to be one of them nature witches.  They said that the great cyclone raging when I was born left summin in me, that’s why ma eyes turned out the colour o the sky, and that it was the will of ole’ mighty Jah that I should learn to bend nature to serve ma people.  What a load a backwash.

I picked up the lightnin thing pretty fast, that was always good for snagging passing fish and such, and some other lil’ jank tricks came along, but eventually the ole grandmamma of my village said she’d had enough a tryin to teach me, I was too angry or flighty or some bull.  Kinda rich complaining I was flighty when they were so keen on making me control air an all.  Stupid people.

Anyway, other day I actually met one a these nature witch folk.  Was out hunting cause the folk I’ve been trawling them ruins with all managed to get themselves poisoned, or drained a blood, or set afire by stuff down in the undergrounds and they needed someone to feed them like a bunch of little babies only just getting used to life away from their mumma’s tit.

Anyway, I found a couple o beasties that soon ran off, I never ben keen on bows, but I probbly shoulda bought one with me huntin, ma lightning just don’t stretch far enough to nab most critters.  But then I found a nice little patch o mulberry trees, figured that’d feed the sick little babes good enough.  Got a full good harvest a them and took em back to that castle they all holed up in.

They mostly still were lyeing around complaining about poison in their blood the next day too, so I went back over near them trees see what more stuff I could find.  Bunch a wolves there this time, actin kind of funny looking my way, not like normal beasties ten ta act.  Then some nature witch actually appeared and told me these were her trees.  Since when do those type a folk lay claim to patches o land? Shades reckons he owns all the land around that castle, not sure if anyone else cares for that claim, but whatever the case, this dirty woman don’t own it.

I shouted at her a bit and she started pulling lightnin on me.  Just cause you can shoot the stuff out, don’t mean you’re safe from it, and her and her puppies didn’t seem like a good fight to have by myself, so I shouted at her an left.  Now I need to head back.

I figure best way to get this dirty witch be to burn down her trees, maybe if Jah is smilin on me she’ll be in one, lyeing with a wolf or summin, when they burn.  If not maybe I need to have a chat to the big ole crow that lives in the tower (the flyin one, not Shades) and tell him where he can find some tastey tame wolves to chew on. 

Or I could use some o the slime we found yesterday to eat her trees, her wolves an her all up.  I found you can use the stuff to cure poison, dropped some on the face o that fella Jax after he got hit with a dart.  Folk kept telling me not ta but for all their spirit magic in the dwarf and that orc with the tattoos they didn’t do any good. Eventually I put the slime on him anyway, and he got better, but then the other orc blew the room up, and poor fella ended up dieing despite ma help.  May he meet Jah light.  Maybe if they hadn’t gotten in ma way slime coulda saved him in time.  Anyway, the slimes eat plants and animals and spreads like the sea breaching a harbour, so maybe it’ll eat that witch’s trees.  That elf with all the bottles (who got him self all hurt trying to save me from a big ole snake, nice fella) kept some, so maybe there’s a night time run over to them trees on the cards soon...

Shades 004: Where a Rook Rests (Expedition 0)

Now I ain't a superstitious bird, but I can certainly entertain the odd flight o' fancy should the opportunity strike me. The Castle Calaelen rock has had a fair pile o' deed-holders. Some o' them are long-lived folk who fell upon desperate times and needed the gold in a pinch, or foolhardy hatchwits who pissed their gold away and used it to settle a mean gamblin' debt. Some o' them also gotta be dead, the rock's so old, and if those departed souls bothered to turn from whatever fancy afterlives they got and take a glance at their old keep, well I'd say that maybe they'd be a mite entertained today.

I ain't gonna lie it weren't pretty or glorious or like any elabourate yarn weaved by some king's royal bard. It was a bird and his eight-strong posse clobberin' the ever-lovin' shit outta some muckdwellin' kobolds and gnolls. And that's gotta be more blood-boilin' and excitin' than some deadswill dead-party packed with dead folk reminiscin' on how they died.

On the ride to the castle we spied this dank cave. The half-orc, the dwarf and the catfolk were all over that like it weren't no-one's business. When you're itchin' for a scrap I guess you just gotta scratch it, even when it's stirges. I went to oversee how this adventurous spirit would fly. Sure, the paladin mighta tried to swat the stirge latchin' onto his face with his hammer, and actually succeeded, but ultimately they all made a short bloody job o' the bugs and found a good spot o' coin amongst their litter. All smeared in bugshit o' course but coin is coin.

The next tussle was with them rude nasty gnolls guardin' the entrance o' my rightful castle. The faces on those mangy fur-chewers when they got acquainted with the business end o' my gun were precious. Finally got to see some o' the spell-slingers liftin' their fingers, addin' magic missiles and lightnin' bolts to the barrage. The half-orc got himself in a bit o' a precarious dance near the fine edge o' the bridge, but overall none too shabby. That's the last time any o' those gnolls will have the gizzard to tell a bird to get bent, on account o' them bein' dead.

Somethin' up in the most dilapidated tower screeched somethin' ghastly durin' that fray. Turns out it was a monster o' a crow with demons in its blood. O' course the new recruits took a moment to note the likeness between it and yours truly, but what's a bird to do. Certainly not make rude comments about the thing's devil mother, that's for sure. I know how mine can get.

One by dog-faced one the posse and I either scattered or slaughtered the kobolds holin' up in Calaelen itself. Lead by some delusional yippin' rat bastard by the name o' Jibjack, they got themselves set up in what might've been the original dining room o' the castle. What do you know, kobolds got themselves names now.

The resultin' scrap weren't our best. Agamemnon got himself all tangled in a net almost immediately, cuttin' him right out. Amerasu seemed to have contracted some nasty case o' missin-every-fuckin'-thing-she-aimed-at. Shnookums must've gotten himself all confused now that the enemy weren't on his face anymore- I had to get in there personally and behead Jibjack myself. However the sorcerors well and truly held their own against the kobolds' slings, as did Jax with a dagger in each hand and a backflip in each foot. The little rats were inaccurate with their weapons like you wouldn't believe, but as my keelbone will attest, when they hit, they hit good.

Havin' gone and murdered little Jibjack at that point we quite certain we had run all the unwelcome blighters clean out o' the castle. Had our guards down and our stupids up. A kobold cleric with an angry black mace and some skeletal underlin's in tow got the drop on us whilst Jax was failin' to get the master roost door open. I know I'm payin' Jax for somethin', but it ain't lock-fussin' for almost half an hour and still failin' to get inside without a key. The changelin' sorceror took the brunt o' the ambush, and by brunt I mean the roughest skeleton o' the pack with nasty ol' greatsword right to the face. The fragile thing was knocked out and dyin' instantly. I swear I was that close dockin' that damn river pirate's pay for all this mess, but then he almost literally danced past the undead and took the fight to the mean ol' boss man himself. Well, the mean ol' boss lizard at the very least.

It was lookin' right grim in the middle there, but after takin' out a small skeleton the rest o' them fell, and the big nasty bag o' bones quite nearly exploded on its own once the cleric was taken care of. Agamemnon got in and stabilized the changelin' in time. Jax's fussin' might've gotten us into deep trouble, but I'll gotta hand it to him, his smart tactics dragged the lot o' us out again mostly intact.

Overall, we cleared the flea-bitten varmints out o' the Calaelen rock, and no one done fucked up hard enough to get anyone killed for real. A part o' me hopes that once all the evil shrines, debris, and bodies are cleaned out the castle will start lookin' like a castle, but rest o' me knows that I'm more likely just gonna find more shit under all that shit. At least the smithy's in full workin' order, and I have some semi-reliable recruits to help get this business venture in the air.

An excerpt from the writings of a ranger

We are a highly guarded people. We do not readily share our secrets. We rarely write as we believe words have power that can be easily abused if they fall into the wrong hands. However, I have been promised a reward that may one day save my life for writing this journal entry for the company, so I have decided that this is worth the risk. I will not commit names to paper as that is too great a taboo to break, even for such as myself. Writing is not a skill my people value, I am not even really sure of the proper etiquette required and there are many details that I will omit simply because I was too busy surviving to observe every step the company took.

I did not attend the company's first outing to the underground caverns for reasons that will never be shared, particularly in written form, however they did all survive that jaunt and manage to return to the Castle seemingly intact. They are a very strange assortment of characters, I will endeavour not to let my personal judgement cloud these writings.

For the company's second expedition return to the caverns, we were lead into danger by our leader. I wonder what secrets he hides to have received lordship over this land so full of monsters and bandits. The company consisted of our brave leader, the sorceresses, the rogue, the scythe carrying behemoth, the paladin and the cleric. The last two did not seem quite like themselves, as if their spirits were off journeying rather than tethered to their physical forms. I wonder if perhaps this is something to do with their racial origins, though this is not for me to speculate on idly. Although I do wish to talk to the cleric about this matter another time.

Rather than travel by horse and risk the hired creatures being taken by one of the many dangers that lurks in this land, the company elected to travel on foot. It is not a long walk and I prefer to be on my feet in case of danger. With my superior vision I managed to spot a reflective surface in the distance, the rogue and I scouted ahead to look for any possible dangers. This is a task I always enjoy. I am in possession of such finely tuned senses, it is always delightful to be able to utilise them. We spotted tracks made by well shod horses but as they did not lead in a direction that was of interest to us, we did not pursue this any further. The rogue spotted a creature flying in the distance, too far even for I to ascertain its identity. A mystery for another day. Once we reached the entrance, we discovered more tracks which vanished leading to the were-pony theory. If something strange is discovered, it oft seems to be attributed to were-beasts. I wonder at the minds of those in this company.

The company chose to explore new areas rather than revisit those previously visited. Our leader was wise to employ the rogue as he is very talented at finding traps, of which there are many in such a dark place as this. In one pit trap bones covered in a mysterious black substance were discovered, the less insane sorceress took one to give to a business associate in the river town who is sure to find a use for such a macabre item. Our extremely large companion did an excessive amount of damage to the first monster we encountered, which was a stirge, which of course meant more stirges were nearby. How ghastly. They do so love to grapple the paladin, perhaps they have heard of his "hammer to the face" technique of fighting. This chamber also contained mysterious pools. The less insane sorceress shares my feelings about water and so we stood back from the company as they flailed fussing about magical water and apparently attempting to drown themselves. I seem to keep strange company at present.

Not long afterwards, we entered what appeared to be part of a catacomb. The walls were lined with skeletons. Bizarre. Though this was quickly surpassed by the oversized iron cobras. They were difficult to destroy, though worth it for the money underneath them. They were designed to spit poison and the money was to buy poison refills. They had been neglected for some time and were no longer serving their function.

There was a room full of dead spiders which was covered in cobwebs. The rogue set fire to the webs to make sure we were not going to be attacked by something sticky. Cobwebs are ever so difficult to clean off ones fur. Though he is sometimes rash, the rogue generally acts for the good of the company. This is unusual for their kind, but I shall not question this as he is always proving his usefulness.

The company continued to quibble over direction, I did not care for this as it was a distraction from the task at hand. It almost seemed as if they were speaking to a force outside of us all, fighting against the will of a larger creature. I oft sense as if there is more than appears to this plane.

We encountered giant centipedes. It is to be expected that many of the creatures we must fight are bugs when we are underground. I just wish they were not all so large. It is unnerving.

Several of the company were rendered unconscious by some kind of poison gas which filled one of the chambers. There were bodies of the fallen dead in the room, we quickly rescued our companions from danger before such a fate befell them. It seemed as if the caverns were desirous of our blood as we were caught in a cave in. Our leader was almost killed by the rubble, twas fortunate for him that our party contains sufficient members whose skills include heavy lifting. As this is not one of my skills, I did my best to stay out of the way of further danger. I am fleet of foot and so managed to survive the catastrophe with little more than bruising and being coated in dust. My fur became an entirely different colour. Charming. Once all the party were clear of the danger, we made a hasty exit. Returning to the Castle was the safest option, recovery was sorely needed by all, especially our stoutest members. The other party members were insistent that the cleric and the paladin were to snuggle up for healing purposes. Perhaps those who share a common heritage can accelerate healing simply because of this. It is of no concern of mine. It is unlikely that those of my heritage will be found in such parts so it is not something I need to consider at this point.

The lightning loving sorceress went off to hunt and came back only with mulberries. The smells she emitted suggested she had done more than collect mulberries. I smelt fear and indecision, I suspect things had not gone quite to her wishes. The rogue and the woman who appears to be working for our leader in a steward's capacity went into the town on the river to sell some of the loot we had uncovered and to find more information, always a handy thing to have. They brought back news of a pilgrimage for dead gods. Is there no limits to the insanity of the common folk? They now revere the gods their ancestors saw as no longer fit for worship, methinks there is a certain perversity to this behaviour. They approached the Castle begging for alms, our lord donated silvers to them and promised to look out for a missing pilgrim. I wonder how this will affect our next set of adventures. 

Shades 003: Enter the Softshells

An outsider would think that spendin' some time in a quaint boghole town within shittin' distance o' the most notorious o' adventurer-munchin' dungeons would have its excitement. Believe you me an outsider would be the deadest kind o' wrong. Ain't much to do but some target practice here and there, but even then you get beaky townfolk askin' a bird what the blazes he's doin' and why does it have to be so fuckin' loud.

Freydann watched my face curl when handin' over Bristleback his coin for a second night here in the Inn, and offered me a place to stay in her home temporarily. I know it's a kindness motivated by the gold she smells on the Great Downward's name. But it's a kindness I'll gladly take until I've reclaimed the old Calaelen rock- which might just happen first light tomorrow. It took a whole week, but finally a gaggle o' aspirin' adventurers heeded the Great Downward Engineering Company's gilded call.

And what a gaggle they are. I know I ain't have no right to judge, havin' not left the cold stone walls o' the monastery for that long myself, but my gizzard is screechin' the soft shell alarm. At least if they're fresh they won't be expectin' too high a pay for their work.

At first glance the most strikin' o' the bunch is Amerasu, on the account o' her bein' a bipedal cat person-thing. Call 'em catfolk in the common tongue I'd wager, the creative language that it is. She says she's hunter o' sorts- swift, sharp and stealthy. Good bow arm on her by the looks o' it too. Amerasu didn't quite specify whether she preferred stalkin' the four-legged beasts o' the wild or the two-legged beasts o' the urban sprawl, but in this line o' work either will have their uses.

Next in line is a tall tusked gent callin' himself Agamemnon. Long fancy name for what, believe it or don't, appears to have hatched from the unsightly union of orc and elf. I weren't even aware that the uglies from either species were compatible, but there you go. If a shoe fits, I guess some horny critter out there'll find a way to fuck it. Agamemnon says he's a cleric, but didn't care to mention the deity he serves. He doesn't wear the usual gaudy ecclesiastical fare neither, but he's certainly totin' a cleric's decorated sense o' self-importance. Unlike most he's also got the muscle to back up all his hot air- so as long as the pointy end o' his spear is facin' the monsters the guy's welcome in my employ.

The real brawn o' the party is a solid dwarven man with most bizarre name for a dwarf I ever did hear- Shnookums. His parents must have been drinkin' deeply o' that dwarven ale when they named him 'cause I ain't able to even begin decodin' what the hell kind o' language that name is in. In contrast to his name, Shnookums seems to be the dry serious type, a paladin sworn to the service o' Dwerfater. I'll gladly pay for him to swing that hammer o' his in a profitable direction- but I hope he knows that Dwerfater's law don't cover all the quandaries a bird might encounter in the adventurin' business. Wouldn't want a scuffle with the guy.

Then there's the sorcerors. Well I never I am literally up to my gods-forsaken beak in sorcerors. There's Kruin, a human woman who's all lightning and rage. Stormy eyes and a body as hard as thunder. She has to be the meanest lookin' spellcaster I ever did see. I swear I can hear her fishin' with lightning outside. Suirlang is the other human woman sorceror, and couldn't be more different to Kruin even if she tried. Specializes in throwin' fire and force around, and likely has enough crazy bottled up in there to make it work for her. Those kobolds and gnolls are up for a right flamin' shock, that's for sure.

We also got ourselves a changeling adept with illusions- but I ain't botherin' with its name or gender because those changed at least three times during the meet up tonight. I know how changelings are.

Last and least physically interestin' is a human man by the name o' Jax. He says he's good with traps and subterfuge, the kind o' specialty that'll save a bird's life a hundredfold in a dungeon like Rappun. Quick, smart, and loaded up to the ears with adventurin' gadgets. The man suspiciously fits the description o' the river bandits I've been told run rampant here, but if a man wants to point his daggers at things for pay, rather than have things cough their gold up for him to stop pointin' his daggers at 'em, then who am I to judge?

For better or worse we set out to Castle Calaelen first light tomorrow- if I don't write again it means one of these fresh hatchwits done fucked up good.

Expedition 0: Questionable Alliance (Agamemnon)

I talked to Ulman again.  That man is out of his gourd ... but I don't dislike him.  I think he is a man who has been driven to extremes by being powerless in a dangerous world.  Thanks to my orcish heritage I am strong and fearsome, while my human side grants me intelligence and a powerful presence.  Ulman has none of these benefits.  But he does have the will to survive, and the balls to risk his life in the pursuit of that survival.  That has to be respected.

Now we just need to ensure he does not become so obsessed with power that he turns to the pursuit of evil.  Keeping him this side of that chasm is a worthy endeavour.

I hope one day he will tell me what actually happened to his wife, if he ever had one.  I suspect knowing that will reveal why he is who and what he is today.

In any case, I have struck a deal with the mad necromancer on behalf of the Great Downward Engineering Company.  I realised that money for Ulman is a means to an end, a way to acquire the deeper knowledge he seeks.  Our party is a much quicker means to a much more interesting end, and so he readily agreed to this proposition: We will gift to him any necromantic items we recover from Rappan Athuk, and consider that the establishment of a line of credit for his services.  Henceforth we will pay only one-third the price of his services, most notably his resurrections which now attract the far more economical pricetag of one thousand gold pieces - much more within our meagre reach.  Most usefully it also grants us immediate access to his restorative powers, even before we have furnished him with any items of interest.

I needed to clear this matter with Shades first, as it is his company for which we work.  The selling point for him was the restoration of Karina's husband to life: as a tengu he feels a great sympathy for those people condemned by circumstance to lead a criminal life, and as a lord - lord of a shithole, sure, but lord nonetheless - he feels responsible for his charges.  I proposed this ideas mostly for pragmatic, or perhaps selfish reasons: Ulman's power is not divine, and so I do not understand it, and cannot trust it until I see its effects with my own eyes.  This experiment, if it works, will not just slake my curiosity, it will also reassure my compatriots of the safety net we have woven when we face mortal danger in Rappan Athuk.  Timidity will win us no battles; the confidence to forge ahead into the darkness is an invaluable boon to us.  So I pray to the Elven Bastard Ulman can pull this off.

Of secondary concern are the three ... recently-retired bandits currently in residence in Castle Calaelen.  As I have previously noted, we underestimate Karina's grief.  Her grief has a perfectly justified outlet in hatred directed towards us, and though she seems to possess herself now, we cannot trust that she will remain so cowed if an opportunity for revenge on those who took her love away from her presents itself.  Winning her good will ensures that we remain safe, that we are not forced to kill her, and also gives us a chance to turn her and her colleagues to good.  Once again, this is a worthy endeavour.  Snook agrees - which is fortunate, because I would not proceed with this plan without having him on board.  The dwarf has a much more refined sense of good and evil than I do; he is an arch pragmatist - the very best kind of paladin - so if he tells me he considers a course of action to be too great an ethical compromise, I will bow to his superior moral compass.  I am fated to walk the grey line between right and wrong; I need people like him with me to ensure I do not fall.

Which reminds me: Shnookums and I need to have a conversation, and soon.

The paladin also informed me that he would be keeping a very close eye on both our friendly neighbourhood necromancer and the newly-returned ex-bandit, in case they slide too far to the black end of the spectrum, or bring something evil back into this world alongside the man's immortal soul.  I expected nothing less from my stalwart companion.

In one surprising but very welcome twist, however, Ulman had one additional requirement before he would agree to our partnership: that I ensure he is returned to life if, during the course of his enquiries, he dies.

I agreed immediately, and have made this my personal responsibility, and not just because I like the man and his ... family.  Ulman knows the danger inherent in what he is doing, and he forges ahead regardless, but not without due caution and contingencies.  Something in his mind is clearly broken, but he yet retains his reason.  This bodes well for him, but also means he can be brought to good, or at least influenced to steer clear of the worst excesses of the necromantic arts.  The man can be saved, and, I fancy, he wants to be saved.  I can respect that.

Expedition 0: On the Nature of Dice (Agamemnon)

It has been ... challenging to write this journal entry.  It is not readily apparent which of the details of this past week are most salient.

Two adventurers have arrived in Zelkor's seeking to join the Great Downward Engineering Company.  Mortimer is a quiet but fearsome orc.  I feel an immediate kinship to him because his demeanor and his behaviour are not giving us a bad name.  He wields a simple peasant weapon, a scythe, reinforced for war.  Fizban is a human alchemist.  I've never associated with an alchemist before.  I once knew a halfling with a penchant for firecrackers, but that ... ended poorly.  Fizban is much further up the power curve.

I suppose the three most significant events other than our newest compatriots are the bird, the bandits and the goblins.

The bird's name is Afrit.  He is a fiendish crow of great size who lives atop one of the towers of Castle Calaelen.  I talked to him.  He mistook me for a follower of Orcus because this mace we picked up apparently bears his markings - good to know.  Being an orc probably contributed to his assumptions.  We had a conversation in infernal and arrived at an agreement: we would try to avoid getting in each others' way.  We are marking all our animals with a mark to let Afrit know they are off limits to his predations, and otherwise leaving him alone; to his benefit is knowing that no adventurers will be storming the castle to de-roost him.  Yet.

The goblins ... I did not enjoy that encounter.  They were very challenging, as goblins always are if they catch you unawares.  They were a patrol of about twelve who severely weakened us with a vicious volley of crossbow bolts as their first action and attempted to force our surrender as their second.  Orcs do not surrender to goblins.  Shades was none too keen in the idea either.  Jax did not want to lose his acquisitions.  Mortimer, the heavily wounded Snook (they were wise to target him first; dwarves and goblins do not mix well) and I agreed that their first volley was by far the worst they could do, and so since we were still standing (except Snook who was more leaning on a horse) we might as well have at it.

And have at it we did, so that within a few strikes the yellow bastards turned and fled.  Not fast enough though.  The cat, the orc and I managed to keep pace and eventually we ran them down, interrogated their leader, then killed them all.  One less goblin patrol but, more importantly, we have a lot more of an idea what's going on down in the Mouth of Doom.  I am now certain that this is the best entryway for us into Rappan Athuk.  We have taken one of their patrols, we know that not all the goblins from that stinking hole are this well trained or this motivated, that they are led by an Orcite zealot called Tribitz who wields power from a city called Greznek, where Morask is king.  There are opportunities here.  As my father used to say, weak goblins are second only to a falchion in terms of tools most useful to a powerful orc.  There are options we need to explore.  Mosswood seems like an unknown quantity at this point.  That makes it a poor option.  Especially given the banditry in this area.

That brings me to point three: the bandits.  The patrol from Tarrent's Junction let us know of the bounty on bandits.  Their information was a little lacking in specificity, it later turned out when, at Zelkor's, we found out that the bounty was actually on specific bandit leaders.

We did ambush a bandit encampment.  We determined through observation that they were primed to jump the Brawler, a barge carrying furs for sale up north.  In retrospect I judge them to be reasonable combatants, but our planning and the stealth of our rogue completely neutralised them.  With their night watch knifed and the rest of them asleep in their tents, several 'judiciously placed' fire bombs and two charging orcs led to four dead and three surrenders almost immediately.  We took their surrender and escorted them back to the shithole.

En route we learned that they really were the very least of the bandits in the area.  They were selfish, they were inconsiderate, but they were not, by and large, sadists.  They had turned to banditry rather than make an honest living, but their modus operandi was to storm river boats for their goods, not to murder everyone in sight.  In fact they told us quite freely that they had ceased associating with the bulk of the bandits in the area because these others were far too ferocious and villainous.  I do commend them for this.  There is such a thing as a lesser evil.

Not all the party feels comfortable with the slaughter we brought on these people.  I am.  I do not revel in death, or in killing, despite my ancestry.  I did not enjoy their deaths.  But they rolled the dice.  They chose this life path.  They chose to deprive others of their livelihoods.  How many children turn to thievery because their merchant parents lose their livelihoods to bandits?  How many of those children become hard, become evil?  I don't believe life is just, but if you roll the dice, you accept the consequences.  These people inflicted harm on others for personal gain, and then they rolled badly and fate harmed them in return.  It doesn't matter whether they deserved this; this is how the dice landed.

I do not feel bad, but I understand why others do.  The stalwart paladin, unsurprisingly, took no delight in what happened but recognised that those who breach the law to harm others will be brought to account by the law.  However he also recognised that the intent of the law is to do good, and so realised an opportunity in all this.  Shades is actually an entitled lord in this place, and so on his authority we took the three surviving bandits into his custody rather than see them executed.  The paladin, the bird and I returned the bounty on these three out of our own pockets, and they are now resident in the castle with us.

I am not certain how this will turn out.  Javier I think will take to whatever task he is given.  Barak is harder to read.  Karina though ... it was her husband who led the bandits, and he died at our hands.  I think we underestimate her grief.  If we want to turn these three to good, we may have some work to do.  Still, we rolled the dice.  Let's see how it goes.

I will leave it there.  I must return to Zelkor's Ferry.  I have another appointment with Uldman.  I have an idea.

Shades 002: A Shady Maybe-Elf of an Ambiguous Nature

Well, still in Zelkor's Ferry, unfortunately, waitin' for word of the work I'm offerin' to spread to nearby gold-hungry ears. There ain't a word in any of the tongues I speak to fully describe how lonesome this boil on the river's back is, and believe me I know some turns o' phrase that'll make an orc's mother blush. I've spent the bulk o' my daylight hours perched on some hill nearby, trancin' and drinkin' in the silence. I ain't heard a quiet so deep since the monastery after curfew, so it seemed only proper to do so. There's a mean tang in the air here. It sticks to a bird's feathers if you stay out too long. Maybe it's just the fumes waftin' off the cutsnake necromancer, or maybe it's the all death and bones on the very breath of ol' Rappun Athuk itself.

Most folks makin' their living here in Zelkor's Ferry live somewhere in the fields outside of town, leavin' about twelve folks left whilin' their nights away in Bristleback Inn. For the most part the locals keep their distance. I don't blame 'em. I've been told tengu all look alike to the untrained eye, so they see a bird who looks like the perp who robbed them, and often get all colours o' rage. Little do they know that the poor thievin' bastard likely got their snitchers lopped off for their petty crime. Speakin' o' petty crime, Bristleback certainly got himself a right rort here. In all my meanderin's I ain't seen a price like five gold a night for such an ordinary room, but where else in Zelkor's is a bird gonna roost? Nestled with the gnolls and kobolds?

Turns out the Great Downward Engineering Company's name still whispers a sweet somethin' for those listenin' for it. I was approached by the Inn's entertainer, Freydann, last night, when the buzz of the ale died and the stupors began. Slippery lass, that one. Or at least I think she's a lass. I thought I had a good eye for humanoids, but honest to whatever gods hold sway out here I can't tell if she's a human, high elf or wood elf or whatever the blazes kind of elf. Or some kind o' mongrel. Lass caught eye of my deed to Castle Calaelen and knew what it meant, Lords and all. She was quite bold in offerin' her services as a local to the Great Downward, notin' that business would likely gather more steam if its face didn't have a beak on it. I gotta admit Freydann has a point.

Shades 001: First Impressions

I don’t have much experience in inheritin’ things, but damn I’ll bet every feather I have that I’ve received the worst inheritance possible. My guess that Zelkor’s Ferry was but a lowly bog-pile with some houses that got stuck in it was right on target, perhaps even flatterin’. It has a town necromancer, for crowin’ out loud. No healer, no apothecary, just a necromancer, and his assumedly creepy bonefuckin’ ways. There is a gemcutter at least, so at least some gold must feel obliged to flow in here on occasion.

The castle ain’t doing much better. I couldn’t even get inside because there were nasty little robed kobolds and some dribbling gnoll toadies holing up in the place. Too many for me and my firearm to take on, unfortunately. There ain't no point in being yet another dead Lord of Castle Calaelen now is there? I've decided the best way to salvage anythin’ outta this whole fiasco is to hire some aspiring adventurers to help clean the angry shitkickers out, using the Great Downward as a face. Perhaps the old gal’s name still carries some weight around these parts, and can get some shit done for a bird.