Dragonrealm

Home Sweet Kolmhaag
Slightly updated edition

Welcome to Kolmhaag! I can spot newcomers when I see them, oh yes. Such a fine carriage you have. And the lady’s scales shine so pretty today. I might be just a human but I know a beauty, dragonborn no matter.

Ah, but where have my manners gone? Allow me to introduce: My name’s Hayk. Yep. Hayk’s the name and business is my game. And the good sir and madam? Oh! Otteril, yes I know the Otteries, who wouldn’t? Such a respected and widely spread family, famous for the boots and silverware… Spice trade? Yes, that too! But we can discuss later, one businessman to another. And businesswoman, why not! Now you must be hungry, sir and madam Otter, and I know just the place. Over there, see? Keller’s Inn, very classy joint. I was just about to go in there myself. Please, I insist.

Nice, isn’t it? I recommend the wines, all excellent across the board, but not local, of course. Goat’s milk cheese goes well with them. And trout’s in season. Don’t know, maybe you have a finer taste. You’re coming from Duskport, right? Well, you’ll learn that here in Kolmhaag we do things a bit different. It’s very friendly around here, see. We don’t fuss much about who doffs his cap to who and all that. Except the soldiers, of course. The lord of this place is a jolly nice fellow, Uratha Kiln he’s called. Yep, we all know each other here. He’s always saying good mornings to me when I pass by, and I say good mornings back. A bit different from Duskport, right? But that’s how we like it.

So, what brings you to our neighbourhood? Are you staying for long? Because I know an excellent place to bunk. It’s the Dreaming Dragon up on Fifth Street. Simply luxurious, great view. Best in town. And tell Golbert that I recommended it. He’s the owner, a good friend of mine. Send Hayk’s regards to Golbert, will you?

Aah, that’s the stuff. Let me pour you another one. Now, sir Otter, do you know any peoples here? ’Cause in Kolmhaag we have all sorts. Got a rainbow of dragonborns, got humans, elfs, half-elfs, two-thirds-elfs, enough dwarfs to hollow out the whole Weeping Mountains. Got many many craftsmen, smiths, jewellers… Oh! That reminds me. The grief!

My dear aunt passed away just recently, so I inherit her belongings, me being her favourite nephew. I got me this lovely necklace, pure gold, look. Ah, but I am pulled two ways. It reminds me of her so much it hurts. But it’s better to let go of the past, right? To get over the sobs. You understand. So, to ease my soul, I would part with this exquisite piece for the nominal sum of six hundred wings. Make it five and a half. No? It’s fine Kolmhaag workmanship, would make a nice memento of your visit. What about this… oh crikey…

I thought I dropped something under the table. My mistake! By the way, if you good sir and madam spot a tall, hook-nosed man in a green cape and maybe a feathery cap, let me know. It’s best to avoid him. He’s not very nice mannered, you see. Going already? Well, it was a pleasure. Remember to put a good for Hayk at the Dreaming Dragon!


Are you the Otharils? You are welcome at my hearth. Dwimbor, at your service. I’ve been sent to look for you on Kathria’s request. I can take you to her office in the Guild Hall, but you would have to wait since she is quite busy at this hour. She suggested that I could show you around our city to pass the time, if you don’t mind a bit of walking. Is that acceptable? Good! Let us get going, then.

The city of Kolmhaag is built on a difficult slope. Space has not been wasted: most of the houses here are partly sunken into the mountainside, so they sit under the streets. As a matter fact, we really have only one main street, which winds up like a snake to the fortress, and it is broken into segments. This is the First Street, or more colloquially the First Climb. You can imagine what the rest are called. Actually, they used to be named after heroes of ancient times, but people these days find the old names too hard on their tongues. Hrmph! At least we still have statues of them on the squares where the main street turns. They were once outposts, the squares I mean, as you must have noticed on your way here. The walls still stand.

The road gets steeper here for a good fifty paces. You see why drivers don’t like these ways. We dwarves have made ourselves our own alleys that tunnel into the cliff at one level, turn slowly, and then come out a bit higher. They work excellently for carriages, being steady and smooth, but some find them too dark for their liking. Here is an entrance to one of them. They all have a strong portcullis like this, open for all during the day. On the other hand, if you happen to be in a hurry, and if you are sure of foot, you can find stairs connecting the numbered streets here and there between the houses.

Here we are at the First Square, and there’s old Achnasshthrima. Now, if you would please follow me, we could get a better view of the city from that tower at the corner. By Cruxis, it is a sound work of masonry, though it may appear to be in disrepair in your eyes. An ancestor of mine laid the stones of its stairwell, actually. I come from a long line of builders, and my son carries on the tradition. The daughter sculpts.

I hope the climb was not too hard on your legs, madam. Hold on to your scarf, sir. We get quite vicious winds here. What? You have to speak louder. It’s the Howling Wall that likes to join every conversation. But this is nothing. You should hear it in the winter! Heh heh.

That down there? Yes, you are correct. That is indeed the Ballast House. It has the foundations of a small castle, the rest is new. It is quite likely that large blocks were needed elsewhere, so the old fort was dismantled. After all, an islet in the middle of the river is hardly worth castellating when we have the Wall to protect us. The house you see now may look ostentatious on the outside, but in my expert opinion, it is quite ordinary in other aspects. You can find the same brickwork all around Duskport. No-one lives there now.

There’s the Guild Hall, and a mighty fine work of architecture it is. The south-facing arch of the main entrance is on the Second Climb, but the hull extends over the Third and Fourth as well, both of which go through the building like tunnels. That’s where the best wares are sold.

Next to the Guild Hall is the Miners’ Lodge, though you can’t quite see it from here. Pity I cannot show the mines to you. The most ingenious engineering solutions can be found there, underground. Great care has been taken to ensure the structural stability of the whole mountainside with all our tunnelworks under it.

That tower there looking west on that tall crag we call Medrion’s Mast, if we ever have cause to talk about it. Medrion was an elvish architect, a genius some say, whose talent, or quirk rather, was designing structures in the most inconvenient of places. His offering to Kolmhaag is competent, as demonstrations of skill go, and he has emulated our style of masonry quite admirably, but for some silly artistic reason, the connecting arch bridge lacks railings. How fortunate that we have no use for it! Some brave fool keeps going there, though.

Looking over there, you can barely spy the top of the east-facing watchtower on the other side of the Howling Wall, and it is much more practical in nature than its western counterpart, as you might guess. In Zathare’s time it was repurposed as a lavatory tower for those living in the fortress. It’s not a palace, the abode of the Kilns.

Now that the smoke from Skalkon’s furnaces is blown off, we may actually observe some parts of the fortress itself. It is enclosed by three nested curtain walls. The outmost one is the newest, built at the very end of the Age of War, and you can see that it is more advanced in style with the engaged shafts and the turrets with their sharp spires. The houses beyond it are residential, and the gate is invariably open. The city was allowed to expand inside the walls about three centuries ago.

The two other walls are closer in character to the fortress. The blocks are good and thick, though cut a tad carelessly in places, and they relied too much on mortar, as you can deduce for yourselves from the repairs there and there. But those were tumultuous times. Not enough Dwimbors for every job. Beyond the barbican rises the Lord’s Keep, which exemplifies an intermediate style between those of the inner walls and the outer wall; make note of the dimensions of the quoins. But! Let the relatively late date of the building not surprise you, since there is also the Old Keep, the most ancient and dare I say the best building in the whole of Kolmhaag. It cannot be viewed from here, but I can tell you it is much simpler than the Lord’s, and all the more sturdy for it. Huge ashlar pieces of granite in a precise rectangular plan. That’s where the Kiln coat of arms gets its charge, and a mighty fine symbol it is. I have been to the Old Keep five times, actually!

That place? Madam has sharp eyes. That little hut is Ilse’s home. She made it herself. I admire her strength, but her building skills are, well… I suppose the construction protects her from the elements sufficiently. Up there she must face the coldest of winds.

Now, we could go down and continue to examine the architectural niceties from up close, if you so wish.


Greetings at last! I apologize for the long wait, but these past days it has been all “Kathria, do this! Kathria, do that!” We are in the middle of preparing a substantial shipment to Duskport and beyond, and a proportional contingent of soldiers has been dispatched to sail with it. Someone apparently thought that I have the expertise to organize it all. Where’s that Order of the what-was-it-again when we need it? Ha ha ha!

So, my friend Dwimbor showed you around. I hope you found it interesting. I told him not to get carried away, which is what he tends to do when he gets the chance to talk about stones. To be frank, I personally find some of those old buildings oppressively grim. But at least our Guild Hall has this sumptuous parlour.

Have you eaten? Or found a lodging? No, don’t go to the Dreaming Dragon. Ah, I see! You must have met Hayk. I should have warned you about people like him. Humans do indeed have a good standing in our community, but don’t drop your guard. I would recommend that you stay at Keller’s Inn. Oh, but if that’s where Hayk peddles his aunt’s items these days, then we’ll find something else. Leave it to me.

He is a sorry case, Hayk. He used to be a member of the locksmiths’ guild until about two years ago, and he was very talented at his work, I can tell you. But he lost the trust of his masters and was expelled for life. Now he tries to make a profit any way he can. He owes money and favours to all sorts of people, mostly the wrong ones. I’d say it’s only a matter of time before he gets in trouble with the law.

But we do have decent citizens here as well. You should pay a visit to captain Faugenar, an elderly greenscale from the southern isles. His wife’s family is from here, and they live in the big house on the Second Square. Faugenar used to have his own trading vessel, but as far as I know, he hasn’t been to the seas for decades. I’m sure he would appreciate your company and your seafaring stories. A word of warning, though: he can get cranky. Don’t even mention the Baron or his policies or he’ll switch to sailor’s cant, if you take my meaning. In other respects he can be a very charming man, in his own way. I could write a letter of introduction on your behalf.

Oh, I almost forgot. The family tree you sent me, I gave it to an acquaintance of mine for evaluation, but I have not received a word from her yet. But if it is true that you are descended from… whomever it was that you suspected you were, then I’m sure you could get an audience with the Lord. He is quite approachable, believe me, and has even adopted two humans as his own children. You might see Edessa on the streets, she’s about twenty, and Dulkan is a year younger. You’ll know them by their signet rings, but without them, they could be mistaken for youths of our own class. So keep your eyes open.

And another point to keep in mind: ownership of the Ballast House has been fought over for years by the Brasks and the Charxes. Both families have entreated the Lord with desperately contorted arguments to support their claims to it. He has not auctioned off the place for fear of causing bad blood and possibly even driving one of the families out of Kolmhaag. So if you were to win the property, you would certainly feel the acid and fire of those two clans on you. That’s the risk you have to consider. But if you’re not daunted by them or their schemes, then go for it. Let the Wall howl, as we say. The Kilns respect many old traditions, and they might very well warm to your appeal, assuming you are right about your lineage.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Belelien yourselves. She’s the one who has been researching your family history. On our guild records, she is a bookbinder, but we do not get enough calls for her to maintain a workspace here in the Hall. Besides, she’s quite shy and sensitive, maybe because of her half-elf blood. She prefers the company of her precious books, and her cats. I hear that the Lord is paying her a comfortable wage for copying the most worn-out tomes of his library. I tell you she’s quite the lorekeeper, but being so demure, she tends to keep her lore to herself, except when she meets someone who shares the same antiquarian passions. Belelien if anyone can help you with your case.

Do you know Garnet Street? It connects to the Sixth Square. Her house is there. It is the yellow one that droops forward slightly, with the withered flowers on the sills. There’s a plaque on the door saying “Go away, please”, but knock anyway. And if she pretends not to be home, try again after dark when she has to light candles and can’t hide.


Who are you? Otharils, yes, I remember! Come in, quick. Oh, blast. There goes Inkypaws. Well, Inky knows his ways around the town.

Come through here. Don’t touch that pile, it’s unstable. Apologies for the mess. Ahem. Don’t bother jumping over the papers, they’re nothing important.

Now, sit you there. Shoo, Crampy! I’ve done some mining on that family tree of yours. Where did I put it? Where, where, where… Oh, what’s this? Looks like bilberry pie. Do you want a slice? Madam? More for me, then. But maybe later.

Otharil, Otharil… Rhymes with Magantharil. That’s it! I put it in Magantharil’s High Dragonic Grammar as a bookmark on page 893. One moment.

Oomph! Here it is. Look at the spine of this beast. They don’t make them like this anymore, with all those little curvy ornaments. Go ahead, touch it! Magnificent. Anyway, to the matter at hand.

Hold this letter, sir. Now then, let us take a look at the genealogy. What, the letter, you mean? I think it’s just a standing invitation for you both to meet the Lord at any time in his castle. But your lineage here, very interesting indeed.

This one, Sir Audran Otharil, your ancestor. If I remember correctly, and naturally I do, the same name appears in the list of retainers of Lord Nesh, who founded the Order of the Dragon’s Eye at the Great Conclave for the purpose of protecting the transportation of riches from the reopened mines. Lord Nesh was a great appreciator and patron of the literary arts. Not many know this, but it is him we must thank for the preservation of the classics of the thirteen great Kolmhaag bards: Zorilish, Zorasshper, Murn of Tarn Vale, Nebdimea the Feytongue, Hestil…

Hmm? The Ballast House? Yes, yes, there is indeed a connection. The Dragon’s Eye was headquartered where the Ballast House now stands. Well, it was called by that name back then too, the little fort in the Haag. To be precise, one of the treaties written at the Great Conclave grants ownership of the house to the grand master of the Order. But the ancient texts like to play games with us. You see, the Order disappears mysteriously from the records by the time of the Second Conclave. Infuriating, isn’t it? But also quite titillating, hmm hmm hmm… You can find a copy of the treaty in the Kiln archives.

This is also on loan from there. Get a whiff of these pages! Mmmh! I can’t get enough of the smell. Those rusty fungal blooms, just intoxicating. Oh, hello. Does Lacuna want a sniff too?

Anyway. See this entry? I think we can deduce a tenuous but thrilling link here between Sir Audran and the Order. Of course, to prove that you are the descendants of the grand master would require more than… What’s that? Oh, is it… Well, rumble my roof! The medallion, you say. Wait, I think I have a description of the grand master’s medallion somewhere. Ah! It’s in the Lesser Chronicle of the Domains, the one with the blue covers, 452 pages of fine vellum, five maps and an appendix by Yend the Elder. I just finished copying and binding it. Ask the Lord, he knows.

Wait, I didn’t mean that you should leave just yet. There’s more to this family tree of yours. Firstly, it appears that you are distantly related to the natural philosopher Voonix. Have you heard of him? He wrote and illustrated an incisive tractate on the effects of coastal proximity on various… Blast, I know that knock. One moment, excuse me.

You again, eh? Yes, yes, just hand over the book and I’ll fix it when I have the time. Goodbye. No, one more thing. Would you like to show these two guests to the castle? They have an invitation from the Lord.

Or maybe we could continue our analysis of the family tree? Very well, as you wish. This young man can show you the way.


Good evening. So you have a meeting with the Lord? Hmm… I see. Sounds like family matters. We are expecting him to return by sundown.

Is something wrong with my hand? Just a little scratch on the knuckles. Oh, the ring! Yes, I am Dulkan. Lord Uratha is my father. I always forget to introduce myself, I am so accustomed to being known to all here in my hometown. Pleasure to meet you both. Are you two siblings? I thought so.

A happy coincidence that I came to Belelien while you were there. She, on the other hand, is not at all happy to see me, I would hazard to guess. This past year I have been studying certain books and scrolls from our archives, but they have the troublesome tendency of disintegrating at my touch. Belelien is putting them back together for me as I break them. She even copies some. Think of the drudgery!

Have you been to Kolmhaag before? Well, do you know anyone in here, in addition to Beli? Kathria… She is one of the administrators of the Guild Hall, the goldscale, is she not? You have a valuable contact. She knows absolutely everyone around here.

Would you like to take this shortcut? No, nevermind. The lady’s garment… We’ll take the long way by the main streets. We could borrow horses from the barracks if you prefer.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I too am acquainted with a whole panoply of persons here in our city, and not merely the usual sycophants that orbit around us nobles. Indeed, I sometimes wonder what exactly makes me a noble. Is it this ring? Strange.

Did you say you’re merchants? Well, I suppose I somehow intuited it, then. Spice trade, ooh. So do you have your own fleet of ships? How exciting! I myself am at all times besieged by mountains. I think I quite like this rough terrain, though. I sense a promise of adventure in these surroundings as I watch the far horizons from a high place. But the seas must have that same quality as well. Isn’t it so? When one embarks on a long voyage to some distant land… Actually, I was born at the southern coast, and though I remember very little of my first years, the image of a sapphire blue sea and bright sails in the offing is something I treasure. I think I would make an able sailor.

We do have one sea captain here in Kolmhaag, but he is retired. A spirited gentleman who walks with crutches made of oars. I would like to hear his stories, but I’ve never had the courage to ask. And then there’s Ilse Windsbride, an old mercenary from the far north, a human who lives alone high up in the mountain and rarely comes down to the city. I was told that she has settled here because Kolmhaag somehow reminds her of her home. She would have quite a tale to tell also, I’m sure, though it might not be one to warm the heart. I have never heard her utter anything other than “food” and “firewood”.

How’s it digging, Kroll? Could you give us horses? We’re not in the mood for hiking. Thanks. Remember we can have our sparring tomorrow. No, actually make that the day after. I have a special class with ol’ Skalky. We’re banging out some bucklers. Easy as the maelstrom defence, heh heh… See you then.

That was Krollus, a close colleague. He’s going to become a soldier in a year. And a commander or an adjutant before long by my prediction. He’s obsessed about the army, even knows the oath by heart already. Also, you might be interested to know that Krollus comes from the esteemed Brask family of jewel merchants. Very considerate of them to let their son pursue his own path, wouldn’t you agree? Not everyone is suited for the trades, and some of us feel a calling for the red and white.

You can see the ineradicable traces of our warlike past all around you. Ours is a bloody history…

The slumber of the dust in tombs of men
is undisturb’d by Time, the worldly rush.
Yet songs that chime as steel can bring again
to life the lords who caus’d the Haag to blush.

So penned one of our bards. The Lords of Kolmhaag have held the title of high commander of the armed forces, even in our time. I am an initiate of the combat arts as well, which you must have gathered already. This rapier is not a showpiece. However, the Lord is of the opinion that the primary purpose of my training is the development of virtuous character as opposed to practical prowess. Hmm… who knows.

No, you’re right. We do not see much actual fighting. It is the miners, the craftsmen and the merchants who are busiest here, which is certainly a welcome state of affairs. But life can be dull for us military types. Even our fighting sports can get tiresome when the opponent is always the same. A while ago I learned a few amusing card games. A funny fellow called Hayk instructed me, but somehow I kept losing my money. Uratha wasn’t happy when he found out.

But enough of that. Tell me, apart from Kathria and Belelien, have you been introduced to anyone else? Dwimbor, you mean the builder? Yes, I know him, though not personally. That little garden over there is his creation, along with the walkway that leads to it. There’s even a channel there bringing water from a streamlet higher up in the mountain. Very clever. Rainpearl used to plant her flowers and herbs in all kinds of odd locations until Uratha decided to give her that place as a gift, so as to put her activities to use. She’s some kind of an idiot savant when it comes to plants and their cultivation. If there is a way to make a seed sprout and take root in this climate, Rainpearl can find it.

She also has a singular insight into the divines, I think. She once told me that the sun is Mishra. I then politely reminded her that, though we may use the sun-eye as Mishra’s symbol, this does not mean that the sun actually is the same thing as the divinity herself. But Rainpearl had another point of view. She answered that, for the little green plants, Mishra is anything that makes them grow. Now that is something to contemplate!

Evening, Junt and Jass. These guests are with me.

Now, I am all ears, what is your impression of the city of Kolmhaag?

View
Dark Omens
12th Session

On the 5th of Reaping, the Party once again reconvened. They laid plans and prepared, with Dulkan and Borel bonding. Dulkan had faced his own judgement and was still shaken by the experience. Carric had important matters to attend and was unavailable for the journey.

The next day the Party left, taking fast horses and travelling east. After half a day’s of riding, they stopped at Riverbank. There they brought more accurate information to dispel the rumors and speculation surrounding the change of power in Duskport. They paid for their visit in gold crowns, spreading the message that the gleaming gold coins were now mere currency, not trophies for Khariss. Despite Dulkan’s eagerness to return to his erstwhile home, they remained the night, at Althea’s insistence.

The 7th of Reaping the Party rode to the Golden Caravan. As they approached, they saw horses and heard laughter coming from the inn. Eager to rest, the Party dismounted, but a nagging feeling about the inn, along with a character who ran in after seeing them, stayed their hand. Dulkan peered in the window and saw a group of tough-looking ruffians. Seeing this, handful of them came outside and accosted the heroes to come in. Althea, wary of the situation, decided to remain outside as Borel and Dulkan went fearlessly in.

The nature of the group quickly became apparent, as the inn was in a dire shape and two fearful girls were acting as servants. Borel used his size and fame to rescue one of them outside while Dulkan sat surrounded. Outside, the thugs demanding Althea’s luggage bit more than they could chew as the bard’s patience wore thin. Magical songs tore through the air, tossing the thugs aside and mesmerizing them where they stood. Borel, after securing the prisoner, rushed back in and took his ax to the bandits. Dulkan made short work of the remaining ones. Only one tried to escape but was foiled by Borel’s relentless speed. The entire scene was over in scant moments.

After a short interrogation which was cut short by the freed girl’s dagger point to her captor’s throat, the Party had learned that all law had ceased in Kolmhaag, with the nobles and guilds grabbing power and the town guard pulling back to the fortress. The unfortunate women had tried to escape from the city before it fell prey to bandits and outlaws.

Knowing this, the Party was even more resolved to find out what had happened. Still, it was still a long way to Kolmhaag, so they decided to rest overnight and travel on the morrow of the following day.

View
The Ordeal

The shadows of the city were about to sharpen, and the last fishing vessel was weighing anchor in the distance when a grey-cowled figure emerged from the fog of the expired night. The acolyte halted at the gate of Palace Drusia. A yawning watchman, summoned by the bell, gave a perfunctory inspection of the visitor and the document he presented, one of many that he held at his side. Entrance was granted without a word.

The courtyard lay silent and empty, and the acolyte took his position near the middle, standing there like a statue to proclaim his arrival. His presence was eventually brought to the attention of another of the same order, who then descended down from the guest quarters and made her exit to the court. They unhooded themselves as a kind of greeting, revealing young and gaunt dragonborn faces.

“He is awake. The fees have been settled. Nothing else to report,” said the woman who had come from inside.

“Good,” the other stated and pondered for a moment whether there was anything else to discuss. There was not, so they parted ways, he towards the door that was held ajar by a servant, she to the gate.

A comment about the misty weather or some such morning topic would have broken the uncomfortable silence, but the servant maid at the door dared not open her mouth. She must have already become accustomed to the reticent demeanour that the grey robe entailed. They ascended a wide staircase and came into a corridor illuminated by candles in simple golden fixtures.

“There, sir,” she said, pointing to one of the doors. It was marked by an amulet hanging from the handle.

A slight inclination of the man’s head sent the maid away. At the door he pocketed the heavy chain bearing the torch-with-hilt pendant, and thinking that the rattle so caused was as good as a knock, he entered.

The person inside rose from his writing desk but was gestured to sit down.

“I am acolyte Prax. I have been appointed your water bearer.”

“Dulkan,” responded the tenant of the room. He appeared slightly nervous and pale.

“Yes, I know.” The acolyte dropped his papers on the table and selected a particular scroll, which he began to cite. “Dulkan Kiln. Son of Uratha Kiln, Lord of Kolmhaag. Identity verified with documents of adoption, no signet ring. Confesses the murder of a guard on the tenth of Sunburst in the Kiln residence in Duskport. No accusations raised by the master of the household. Subject requests, first, formal court procedure in accordance with temple law and, second, the right to the Ordeal of Iron and Fire. Signed two days ago, on the third of Reaping.”

The speaker did not wait for an interjection. “I have done the necessary investigations regarding the case, though it is not usually within my purview. The victim’s name was Grev, son of Greshk. You requested this information also, I was told.”

Dulkan turned to the text he had been writing and completed a blank space with the name.

Prax took note of it. “A written account is not binding without your seal. A judicator shall take an oral confession.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Dulkan said. “This is merely something personal. I do not expect any favours.”

“Good. You shall receive none as the Pandects cannot be amended.” Prax studied his client with a long look. “You have fasted for a day and a night?”

“I have, on water, excepting the draught prepared by the other one, Zella. That was yesterday.”

The acolyte then picked up a black book from the table. “You have studied the catechism? The language is not too abstruse for you?”

“I have perused the relevant pages, yes, and memorized the formula. The style is quite clear, actually.”

“Indeed. Ashanti’s word requires no exegesis. And you understand the principle of virtuous endurance? And the conditions of honourable and dishonourable termination of the ordeal?”

“Yes, I think so. And I do not suffer from any physical ailments that would affect the matter. I am ready.”

Prax paused to evaluate the answer and the tone of its utterance. “Very well. In that case I can recommend that you should be put to the ordeal. All arrangements for the proceedings have been made, and another party has offered to cover the fees, which — apart from wergild — amount to one thousand silver wings.”

Dulkan could not suppress a cough-like exclamation. “I have powerful friends, it seems,” he muttered to himself.

The acolyte put the book down, letting its metal clasps make their noise. “Cast aside any pride you might feel over your associates and their material influence. Know that the ordeal is one of our most fundamental sacraments, and when you undertake it, you bow before the Divine Dominator alone. So turn your thoughts inward and humble yourself, if you wish to pass.”

Dulkan ruminated on the words with a furrowed brow. “And if I pass, I will go in peace?”

“Subject, this is what you must understand,” Prax began. “The incandescent power of Ashanti can reveal the truth of what you are. Ask no more. If you seek absolution, you must turn to the Lord of Kolmhaag. If you seek validation for your act, search your own conscience.”


The city was already welling with people when Dulkan and his escort joined the throng on foot. The mist had cleared, but the streets were now pulsing with unusually knotty veins of traffic, so the dust raised in their wake made the scene almost as clouded as it had been at dawn. Something momentous had taken place. Everyone could feel it.

As they came to Destrier’s Walk, Dulkan felt grateful there had been no chains, and that no armed guards had been ordered to hold him by the elbows. Thus he was spared the suspicious looks and pointing fingers. Face after face ignored him since he was dressed quite plainly and carried no weapons. None had an inkling that here walked the very man who had sunken his steel in the Baron’s heart only a few days before. And yet he was now being taken to the temple of Ashanti over the death of someone whose renown, or notoriety, was even smaller than his own. The irony might have been worth a grin, but not for Dulkan himself, and not on that day.

Turning to the sunlit Long Shadow Street they were suddenly showered with flower petals: two elf girls were singing and dancing and throwing around their floral confetti from wicker baskets. Dulkan brushed off a few from his hair, while Prax somehow managed to avoid the indignifying adornments entirely. Further on they came across a clique of human children who were kicking a ball along and chanting something of their own devising. It was a rather morbid couplet: “Red dragon dead, Baron got no head.” They repeated the rhyme expressionless and innocent. Dulkan watched intently as they skipped by, but he could not decide what to think of the little ones and their game.

Borel, the decapitator, had ran off to spill ale in the seaside taverns, his old haunts, or so Dulkan guessed. The barbarian would turn up eventually. Carric had approached Lady Yagasha, attempting to gain admittance to the Marram libraries; Dulkan had not seen the sorcerer since the third of Reaping. Althaea was naturally preoccupied with negotiations, but she was aware of the penitent’s plans and had taken the time to write a compassionate and encouraging letter despite all her entanglements. Dulkan’s thoughts then turned to all the other Duskport acquaintances. He desperately wanted to avoid any encounters.

Fortunately, Scales Avenue was clogged by the colourful coaches of wealthy families. The two pedestrians could slip through without attracting anyone’s attention. Dulkan overheard talk, both excited and anxious, of new mercantile ventures, speculative opportunities, fears of looting and unrest, and of how “everything was about to collapse”. In front of a grand portico, spanning the width of the street, rows of wagons were being loaded with crates, cloth-enveloped chandeliers and gilded furniture. And at the crossing of Trade Street were two guard officers arguing, apparently trying to determine who exactly was in charge and whose mandate had been rescinded. Nearby a haggard, drunken bard was contributing to the cacophony, with the belly of a passed out dwarf as his footstool. Both wore the servant attire of house Marram.

At last they came to Sundial Square, where the monumental edifice of Ashanti’s temple covered the northern side. Everything appeared to be in order, and a cavalry company in shimmering plate mail paraded the new flag of Dusk Coast. The event elicited unending cheers from the windows of the surrounding residences.

“We are expected,” Prax pointed out to Dulkan, who lingered at the steps of the temple, unwilling to miss the last glimpse of the parade before it turned out of sight.

“Lead on.”


The acolyte guided his client through the narthex where a great thurible was swung. They dragged faint swirls of incense in their train as they passed to the nave, a cavernous space flanked with cyclopean colonnades under a dim clerestory. Behind the columns were recesses along the aisles, and Dulkan followed the other towards one of them. He softened his stepping as he became mindful of the irreverent clack of his boots against the massive stone tiles. The sounds, his own and those from unseen origins, reverberated through the vastness of the temple, leaving the air darkly susurrous.

Passing a travel-worn paladin and his squire, they stopped at a wooden balustrade that separated the aisle from the semicircular alcove on the other side. A case was in process: at the foot of a tall bench squirmed a burly human on his knees, his mouth gagged, hands tied, and a pair of guards holding him in place. Silver mirrors and lamps high above reflected light on the shoulders of the accused.

A gruff voice from the shadows was passing sentence: “Five hundred silver wings as compensation to the offended party and six hundred silver wings to the temple for contempt of court, both sums to be paid by the end of Shedding on pain of four days in the stocks. Does the subject have anything else to say?”

“He does not,” responded an acolyte on her clients behalf. The judicator’s mallet struck with sparks, and Dulkan caught a glimpse of the deep-sunken eyes of a dusky brass dragonborn.

The guards dragged the struggling convict out, leaving the clergy to write the necessary records. Before long Dulkan was called. He walked into the shaft of light and kneeled. From his position, the figure crouching above was obscured by the front of his bench, so Dulkan was forced to stare at a parament and the emblem of Ashanti embroidered on it. Prax exchanged scrolls with another acolyte and then came to stand behind Dulkan.

Someone spoke a monotonous litany: “Confessional examination of subject Dulkan Kiln is commenced. Illustrious hierarch Taleon presides as judicator.”

Parchments rustled, and then the gruff voice began its questioning. “Is the subject verily Dulkan Kiln, son of Lord Uratha Kiln?”

“He is,” Prax answered.

“And does the subject acknowledge that, in the absence of any civil litigation against him by the offended party, temple law shall be enforced?”

“He does.”

Dulkan followed the dialogue with some confusion.

The harsh barking continued. “Do you submit yourself to the authority of the Sacred and Most Ancient Law of Ashanti and accept it as absolute and infallible?”

Prax tapped Dulkan on his shoulder. “I do,” the latter answered with a dry throat.

More rustling of parchments. “Now,” began the judicator, “on the tenth of Sunburst of the current year, you committed the murder of one Grev, son of Greshk, who was serving as a guard in a house owned by Lord Uratha Kiln. Secondarily, you eluded arrest and withheld information of your direct involvement in the aforementioned event from temple authorities until the third of Reaping. Do you confess these acts?”

“I do.”

“Was the primary act necessitated by self-defence?”

Dulkan gave some thought to the question, although he knew the answer. “It was not.”

“Was the primary act committed to defend another, or were the circumstances of an extenuating nature in any regard?”

Dulkan hesitated and turned to Prax, who bent down to hear the whispered question. “I thought that my liberty was at risk and that the guard’s intent to take me captive was unjustified, in a moral sense. Do such considerations have any weight?”

Prax shook his head. “Not under temple law.”

Dulkan then replied sullenly: “There were no… extenuating circumstances.”

“And is the subject of sound mind and therefore fully cognizant of the criminality of his act, to wit, the deliberate violation of sections 35, 291 and 292 of the Pandects?”

“He is,” Prax said.

Then a masked cleric dressed in black habiliments came to the kneeling examinee and presented two objects, viced in long tongs as one would handle animal carcasses. Dulkan knew the items well.

“Do you recognize the exhibited articles as the mortiferous implement and its accompanying scabbard?” the judicator asked.

“I do.”

“Do you hold these articles to be unclean and abhorrent in your sight, and therefore do you willingly relinquish possession of them and offer them to be cleansed in flames?”

Again Dulkan felt the tap of Prax’s claw. “I do,” he responded at last. The rapier and scabbard were promptly taken away.

The judicator then rushed on. “The law finds the subject guilty on all accounts. Does the subject demand the right to the Ordeal of Iron and Fire?”

“He does.”

Rustling and creaking. Dulkan could feel the deep-set eyes of his judge peering down at him over the bench, but he could not look to make sure. This lasted for a dozen heartbeats. Or a dozen rapid lashes, as Dulkan imagined them.

“Does the water bearer deem the subject fit for the ordeal?” Taleon’s bark had lost some of its grimness.

“I do,” Prax said, laying his hand on Dulkan’s head.

“It is granted.” Taleon struck his mallet.


I have come.

Dulkan now stood in the hypogeal sanctum where the ritual was to be performed. It was a round room below the temple, coarsely hewn in the rock by unknown hands, a memory of an era lost to written history. At its centre, upon an irregular dais, rested a brazier of bronze spewing white fire and light at the dome. An oculus drained the odourless smoke.

There were two portals into the vault. A trail of wet footprints came from the antechamber where Dulkan had washed himself. Through the opposite entrance arrived six others, all stoic dragonborn. First, three senior hierarchs assumed their watchful positions around the room. Then came Prax, holding in his arms a bowl of water, and once more he took his place behind Dulkan. The fifth was a sacristan bearing the ceremonial brand: a blackened iron rod with a crossguard and a pommel at one end. He approached the fire.

Last came an aged female, short of frame and walking with a stick. Here was the truthseer, as Dulkan knew she was called. He could detect some of that same forbidding quality in her mien as in the others, but there was more to her. Not charm or sympathy, but perhaps a vague note of wisdom beyond the ordinary.

She gave the signal. Dulkan began the rite. “I have come.”

“Where have you come?” the truthseer asked.

“To the presence of the Divine Dominator.”

“What is your name?”

“Mortal.”

“What do you seek?”

“The truth.”

“Where is the truth?”

“In His fire.”

“How are you to take it?”

“With iron.”

“Then come.”

They walked to the dais. Dulkan stretched out his right arm, palm upwards. The sacristan placed the hilt of the iron rod there and the other end down to the bottom of the brazier. The truthseer clutched Dulkan’s wrist in a firm grip and gazed up into him. The ordeal had begun.

Behold the loyal subject. That is what I am to you, am I not? And you can sense my thoughts, my inner words. So be it. I reveal myself, and seeing you I have a looking glass before me, a mirror of my mind.

Slowly the warmth of the fire was beginning to rise up the iron hilt. It was quite bearable. The truthseer betrayed no emotion.

I have borne pains and faced perils before. You shall see the extent of my commitment. And my courage. Yes. Our age needs champions who have the strength to make sacrifices, and in time our work shall bear fruit to all. Are you not impressed? Outside this temple, this very morning, a new flag was waved. And I was there fighting for it, fighting against the autocratic Baron. Do you see fear in me? You shall not find it.

The truthseer’s expression was passive, waiting. The warmth was intensifying.

Any pain on my hand is merely a sensation of the body. And though a soldier’s body is strong, his will must be stronger. I shall endure and so prove my mettle. Let it come! The heat is a higher judge than any judicator up on his bench, his eyes on the books of dead authors. Do you not agree?

Dulkan took a deep breath.

See? I have the fortitude. Physical suffering, hah! I had to end the life of a guard. One of my own family. A necessary evil. And now I am here. Had I not done so, I would have been taken away. Then I could not have fought the Baron. And yet I feel guilt. Can you see it? Can you see the regret? It burns more painfully than this iron.

The truthseer’s grip tightened.

More? My hand is yours. This sword hand. You wish it burnt? To mark a murderer? No. It has its use. I need it. The future of our domain…

For a moment Dulkan’s could not think clearly. The truthseeker shook his arm, and the hilt shifted its place. Now a reddened band could be seen across the palm where the iron had been. Dulkan pursed his lips.

I could wrench my hand free. You know it. And yet I choose not to. What more do you wish to see? I bow before Ashanti. Is this not it? Then why have I come here? What is the purpose?

The truthseer was now inspecting Dulkan’s face with great keenness and anticipation. She seemed to be conveying something with the intensity of her focus, as if urging Dulkan on.

The truth?

Dulkan let his thoughts melt into a torrent of fragmentary, wordless conceptions. The night of the tenth, climbing up the wall to the roof. The guard’s threatening stance. Both move their mouths. Must meet Vulkan. Idiot servant. Idiotic orders. Pride. Heart pounding. The sword is drawn. Desperation. Blood drips from the wound. Head feels light. Panic and shame. Vulkan would avert his eyes. Why did it happen?

The ideas grew even more abstract, distilled by the pain into form-defying essences. Uratha. Kolmhaag. Lectures on the Kiln virtues. Polite smiles of the people. Playing children. Acting out scenes from heroic sagas: “Die, traitor!” Must go inside at once. His lordship’s command. Musty tomes in High Dragonic? Rather tales by the fireside. And sparring with Vulkan, wise old friend. Oh, to ride out one day. With Edessa.

Freedom, the Age of Splendour — boy’s daydreams. The fight, the escape — grotesque games. That was all there was to it.

“You have the truth.” She released her grip.

The iron clanked against the brazier edge as it was dropped. Dulkan turned and splashed his tortured, blistered hand into his companion’s receptacle, gasping and groaning, not caring if the ceremonial atmosphere was to be maintained or not. For him it was over, at last.

He turned his palm in the cool water, while Prax eyed him over in silence. Once the searing agony relented sufficiently, Dulkan could open his eyes and observe the acolyte: still stern as ever, and showing no especial concern, and nonetheless something had changed. But was it a change in Prax, or…

Now I know.

View
The Aftermath
Snippets from Duskport

Ashinka Drusia

The vault door opened, casting a ray of light into the glittering piles of gold crowns. Near a sturdy wooden table the piles were organized around an incomplete ledger; Elsewhere they lay in haphazard mounds.

Lady Ashinka Drusia smiled as she beheld the glittering gold. She placed her candle on the table, breathing in the dusky smell, wafts of sulfur still in the air. For now, she was alone, surrounded by no-one. She could finally bask in the fruits of her labor.

The last highmonth had been a hectic one. The glorious ruler’s death came as a quite the surprise to everyone. This, of course, was a great opportunity, as everyone were too confounded to make any decisions. Even if it meant figuring it out as she went, Ashinka took the risk. And now she could rifle through Khariss’ hoard at her own leisure.

Ashinka took a gold crown in her hand, turning it over and looking at the light reflecting off its surface. The hoard could pay for a lot of services. She would need those. After Lord Erinak refused her designs, she needed Lady Tuire in order to win the central provinces. And to win Tuire, she needed the road. It was unnecessary due to the river connecting Drusia to the coast, but that was the only way to reduce Tallbridge’s importance. If Kolmhaag didn’t want to support the new order, she could justify the road as an investment in Winden’s mines and get Duskport to pay for part of the labor.

The dragonborn was deep in her plans for the future when she realized that she was still holding the coin. She wasn’t looking at it, she was looking into the web of promises, debts and loans she had woven. And she found more enjoyment from those thoughts, than from the wealth gathered here. Ashinka allowed an amused chuckle. All this time she had thought she was doing this for the silver. For the chance to become wealthier than ever. But now, as she possessed more wealth than any previous noble in a long time, she knew that it wasn’t why she plotted and weaved.

It was because she liked it.

She liked the challenge, the rush of excitement that came from seeing an opportunity and seizing it. She liked to see her plans and designs come to action more than the outcome of those plans. That was the reason she tolerated the long, arduous coach rides, sore backside and poor food. She could have easily sat in Duskport and orchestrated these via proxies and messengers. But that would have taken the enjoyment out of it.

Ashinka flipped the coin to the pile, dutifully observing the side it fell on. It was all just a means to an end. And for now, that end was seeing that the Heroes of Dusk Coast, as some started to call them, found the dragonslayer. The fact that such a force was out there, out of her reach, was infuriating.

The dragonborn took the candle and stepped outside. She wanted to ensure that her reward would arrive on time and she had time to prepare. While she wanted them to be awed, Ashinka knew that she wanted to give it to them more out of gratitude than any other motivation.

Alexha Rivan

Kerach slid beside the door soundlessly. Using a dagger point, he parted the door and peered inside. Beside the bed where Alexha rested was the frame of a bearded halfling. Timothy. What was he doing here? The dragonborn spy observed the scene wordlessly. Timothy was seated on the stool next to the bed. His hands were on her, and he was leaning forward. A part of Kerach wanted to believe the halfling was ensuring that Alexha didn’t wake up, but the rational, observant part in his mind said that it didn’t seem that way. He wasn’t moving, or doing anything. And he didn’t have anything with him, save for the ornamental dagger on his belt. Then again, he carried that everywhere.

Eventually Kerach closed the door and snuck back to the other end of the hallway. Then he walked back to the door, ensuring his footsteps were audible. He wanted to see if he could catch the halfling out of a lie, or anything. He breathed out and opened the door.

”Timothy?”

The halfling was still sitting on the stool, but was now looking at Kerach with that hard gaze of his.

”Yes, agent?”

By the divines, the halfling infuriated him.

”I’m surprised to see you here. Shouldn’t you be out there representing Arry?”

Timothy snorted.

”Do I barge in and tell you how to do your work? I’m waiting for the messengers to bring back news from home. Can’t do decisions for something if I don’t know if the place is still up.”

Good answer. Kerach walked to the other side of the bed and sat down on a chair. Alexha seemed peaceful, despite the lighter scales where the cleric’s healing magics had healed scars. But then again, Alexha always looked peaceful.

”Here to plan the future, then? You have the lordship over Arry now. Must be happy about that.”

The halfling looked at Kerach. For a moment he had that fire in his eyes, but then Timothy just exhaled.

”No. I’m not here to fight with you. I’m just here to see her.”

That surprised Kerach. He looked at the halfling and then at Alexha. Then he realized where his hands had been; They had been holding hers. Kerach looked back at Timothy. They both knew what they were thinking.

”Oh.” was the only thing Kerach managed to say. For a moment the men sat in silence, as a spike of jealousy froze the spy’s blood. But it was Timothy who broke the silence.

”Do you know why Arry worked? It was because of her. Alexha is the epitome of Arry and the surrounding areas: Kind, open and willing to help. She had a vision for Arry, and that vision carried us through the difficult times.”

The halfling tapped his chest with his hand.

”Whatever you think, I believe in that vision. But I know that when it collides with reality, it will be ugly. That is why I do this. I bear the ugly truths so that she can focus on her beliefs.”

He paused and looked at her. Kerach felt the ice in his veins melt.

”I always tried to make her see that it is not possible to please everybody. That she can’t help everyone. That she shouldn’t help everyone. That sometime she would need to breathe and bite. But she never did. While it was maddening, it was also a bit of a relief. I knew she would never compromise. And I would always facilitate that, no matter the cost. I would sacrifice everything or anyone to allow her to be who she was.”

Again, silence fell. Kerach felt like he should say something.

”I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

Timothy sighed.

”No you’re not. You’re the one who lost more”, he said bitterly, jumping down from the stool. With a final gaze on Alexha, Timothy spun around and headed towards the door.

”Are you going to lead Arry, then?” Kerach asked, ”If no-one else worthy shows up?”

”I’m not”, the halfling said, ”I only see enemies and weaknesses. Arry needs someone who can see friends and potential.”

With those words Timothy left.

Anthea Nailo

Lady Anthea stepped out of the carriage, deciding not to breathe in the air. Even a couple of days in Melenne got her used to the fresh, strong air of the estate, after which Duskport’s odor of waste, smoke and all-permeating salt felt horrifying.

Yaris was waiting for her. It was somewhat unexpected, considering the situation, but not altogether surprising. Anthea walked to her husband and exchanged a brief embrace. ”Good morning, dearest. How was the trip?” He asked after instructing the servants to handle her luggage.

”A relief. I’m pleased to be here.” Indeed, it was. Before her divinations bore fruit, Anthea’s mind was filled with dark scenarios on how the events would play out. But her daughter had performed admirably. It was the moment Althea had been trained her whole life. Still, she would have to learn the details.

”That is good to hear. I take it you wish to see if the garden requires any measures?” Yaris asked, turning to escort her to her garden.

That moment gave Anthea a pause. The mention of the garden was a focal point in the surrounding veil of secrets and knowledge. It allowed her to glimpse a vision… no, a mere feeling of a fact that was hidden from her. In the past that moment would have sailed her by, but after she started studying the secrets of arcane divination, she started seeing those moments. They did not offer much, but a keen mind could use that one thread of information and unravel its secrets.

This thread led Anthea to her husband’s mind. It was the peak of a mountain of suspicion, brought on by a confirmation of some sort. Yaris knew about her hobby. He had learned of the most recent scrying… But from where? Anthea only told her daughter…

Ah, of course. Rhodonna, her niece. She had keen ears, and probably boundless curiosity. She eavesdropped on their conversation and relayed it to her father, who then told Yaris.

Well, she knew she wouldn’t keep it a secret from Yaris forever. He was a keen man, not to let details slip by. And Anthea was more careless than usual, due to the circumstance.

”Yes. Escort me there, would you dear?”

Yaris nodded and they walked to her garden, keeping to general small-talk and gossip until they were in the privacy of her den’s secret entrance.

”So, I trust it was your brother who told you?” Anthea asked as she sat on a bench. To her surprise, Yaris shook his head as he sat beside her.

”No, Rhodonna came to me directly. She wanted the glory and reward to herself.” Anthea allowed an amused chuckle. Rhodonna had taken to Bade, truly.

”Well. I suppose I should bow myself to your judgement, then.” As the head of the family, Yaris ultimately had the final say over any broken laws within the family. Having had used family fortunes for her laboratory and magical materials, Anthea had broken many laws about wizardry.

”Before any accusations are thrown, may I ask how… extensive have your arcane studies been?” The way Yaris asked it betrayed his feelings on the matter: He didn’t really care. Almost every noble elf in Dusk Coast had dabbled in wizardry at some point in their life. Yaris probably knew a spell or two, but had not cast them in a long time.

Still, it was time to be honest. Anthea did not want to lie to her husband.

”I discovered a book about scrying before Althea was born. It detailed methods that could be used to spy on other beings from a distance away, without them being aware of it. The thought interested me, so I invested in more texts. When my abilities became the limit, I further trained myself more spellcasting.

One day when I was doing divinations, I foresaw this tribute. It had significance that I could not comprehend, but also danger and irrevocable changes. I concentrated on it, tried to find out details or anything, to no avail. I was getting desperate, but then I saw Althaea tapping into her bardic talents. Seeing that she was courageous, well-spoken and now wielding magic, I decided to prepare her for this moment. Through her I could perhaps do something about it.”

Anthea went silent, giving a moment for her husband to comment.

”You used our daughter as a pawn?”

Suddenly Anthea felt cold claws grasping at her heart. Yes, that was exactly it. She had looked at her daughter and seen a solution for her obsession. How long ago was that? Five decades? The cold feeling spread. Had she let her obsession, her concern eclipse Althea’s wellbeing? Would she had pursued her bardic talents if Anthea had not pushed her?

There were no words. Anthea tried to form a defense, some sort of explanation, but the only thing she could manage was:

”I’m so sorry…”

For the longest moment they merely sat there, in her garden, feeling the slight wind shake the leaves in the flowerbeds. Then Anthea felt Yaris’ arms around her, in a warm embrace. He spoke.

”I promised to love you for eternity.”

A momentous boulder fell from Anthea’s heart. She returned the embrace.

Tuire Winden

Lady Tuire Winden looked on as the Heroes left the palace, towards the eastern gates. Soon they would return with the latest word from Kolmhaag, and finally all the pieces would be in place in the great dragonchess board that was Dusk Coast.

Kolmhaag. If Lady Tuire had a rival, it would be the city. Kolmhaag was nearly comparable to Winden, but in all ways more significant. Kolmhaag’s historical significance as the guardian of the Haag river was more important than Winden’s fortifications, its dwarven mines were deeper and more valuable than Winden’s iron-rich hills, and it was easier to access with the river and the roads. Kilns had a position in the Baron’s council, while Windens had to practically beg for prestige.

Lady Tuire turned from the window to look at the furnishings. She had brought Winden’s colors to the room to make it more homely. Her gaze drifted to the books on her table. Military strategy. She had already read most of them back home. Back when she had endeavored to become more than she was. More than Winden was.

Her thoughts returned to Lady Ashinka, and she felt the familiar pang of jealousy. While Lady Tuire had been improving herself, learning strategy, etiquette, history and more, Lady Ashinka had been scheming and dealing. Improving her position, making contacts. Planning a coup. And Ashinka had asked Lady Tuire only after she had exhausted all other nobles.

And now her lackeys were riding towards Kolmhaag to get them to join the new order.

Lady Tuire felt the self-pity rise up again. But this time she remembered the sight of the flaming tent tearing to pieces and the Heroes of Dusk Coast fighting the Baron. They had fought the most powerful sorcerer in the coast, and won.

This time, Lady Tuire did not allow the self-pity to rise. She looked at the window. Now her own nemesis was clearly in some sort of trouble, and this was her moment to take initiative. The keys to Winden’s relevance were in her hand.

”Travis!”

Her aide appeared in the door. Lady Tuire enjoyed Travis’ company, mostly because the human did not have the prideful attitude most dragonborn tend to have. Ironic, but what can you do.

”Arrange a meeting with the mining guild of Winden. Tell them I wish to invest in the mines’ activities. Also, take a message to the keeper of the Dragon Knight’s stronghold. Tell them that if they need more space or land, the Windens will provide.”

”Bold move, milady. Do you require anything else?”

Lady Tuire thought about it.

”Best wine you can find in the cellars.”

View
Last dragon of Duskport
11th Session

On the 2nd of Reaping, the Party arrived to the edge of the Emerald Forest, where the combined troops of Drusia, Winden and now, Melenne had camped. Finally beholding the worryingly small militia, doubts whether they would be enough rose in the Party’s hearts. Still, they were resolved. The encounter at Duskport’s gates was planned and the army marched on.

As the Party speculated on their firmly approaching task, grim news arrived: Kerach and Timothy arrived, both haggard and tired. According to their accounts, the Baron’s forces had arrived in Arry to accuse Lady Alexha of treason. As they were taking her and Timothy prisoner, Kerach attempted a rescue, which ultimately ended with the spy and halfling fleeing for their lives and Lady Alexha in deeper straits. A dire cost for the freedom of the North.

The tiny army marched through the night, and arrived at high noon on 3rd of Reaping. Duskport’s gates were closed and the battlements were manned. The Dragon Knights had arrived on the other side of Haag river, beholding the unfolding events. The Party deployed their secret weapon: The Druid’s magics. As their ritual darkened the skies and brought a small storm to the coast, the message was clear: The unified Dusk Coast was serious.

And it paid off. Their request for negotiations brought the Baron himself to the fields of negotiation, flanked by his two strong allies: The sorcerer Yagasha and Captain Argoh of the city guards. Unbeknownst to the Party, bar for Anthea’s divinations, the Baron wasn’t interested in negotiations. He wanted to cut off the head of this monster that was shaking the foundations of his rule, and he wanted his most powerful soldiers for that.

But this gambit would be his downfall, for the Party had armed with knowledge of Yagasha and the Captain. They beseeched the Baron with visions of a better future, pleading for his cooperation. But the pleading were waves, broken against the unyielding rock of the Baron’s mind. While his allies weren’t interested in the good of the region, the future they painted did offer benefits to them: The position of the head Sorcerer in the council for Yagasha. Envious of the Baron’s position and hungry for recognition, the prideful sorcerer changed sides.

And as his frustration and anger grew, the Baron deflected the accusations the party threw at him. But when Arry’s request for help in the Sahuagin matter was brought up, a twitch in Captain Argoh’s demeanor betrayed that he did not know about it. The party pushed and pressed, until the Baron finally snapped, declaring that he wasn’t interested in the fishing town’s fate, thus voiding his promises of protection.

Realizing that he had lost his support, the Baron gave in to Ochrana’s whispers. With a ring of fire he burned the tent and alienated his allies. Despite being outnumbered and outmatched, the Baron flung spells and curses in equal measure, turning the last bastion of peaceful resolution into his personal hell. But the last dragon of Duskport couldn’t keep up with the combined strength of the people arrayed against him. As the sorcerers against him whittled his magical defenses while the bard inspired them to not lose hope, he was exposed to a final, felling blow from Dulkan’s blade. Baron Goran Marram fell and he was, again, faced with his mortality. His final thought before an axe-blade ended his life was how after everything he did to ensure that he would not die in the claws of a dragon, his life would be ultimately taken by a human. That, he exclaimed with his dying breath, was not fair.

With Baron Marram’s death, the resistance to the Unified Dusk Coast evaporated. The Party marched in Duskport, setting everything in place for the future. While the Party was well in their rights to rest, there was still one task to be done. A diplomatic envoy would be needed to be sent to Kolmhaag to inform them of the new leadership… And to find out what had happened. And as 5th of Reaping arrived, the Party prepared to travel again, back on the road they had marched a highmonth ago.

View
Althaea's Journal X
Session 10

Althaea’s journal entry for 27th of Sunburst continues

As we reaching the grounds of Moon on the Rise, a familiar figure approached us: Borel had returned from his hunt. We exchanged warm greetings and proceeded into the house.
Although it was late, Jarvis had stayed up waiting for us. When he saw my torn and blood-drenched clothes he got alarmed. I reassured him that I was all right and pleaded with him not to tell my parents of my condition when returning from the adventure. He agreed, as he knew that both mother and father might be less enthusiastic of letting their youngest-born to pursue potentially dangerous adventures should they know how severely their daughter had been injured.

Our party proceeded in the family room. Borel had with him a cauldron of soup, so I asked Jarvis to bring some dishes and then to join us if he had time from his duties. While we were enjoying our steaming bowls of delicious soup we exchanged our war stories, so we were all up to speed. Accompanying his tale of hunt Borel gave us gifts related to his quest. For Dulkan he gave a bear paw; for Carric some bear teeth; and for me he gave a flute crafted out of a bear fibula. Although not perhaps of the finest craftsmanship I still treasured this gift as a token of affection from Borel. As we were all tired from our arduous day, we did not spend too much time of the evening in front of the cosy fire. I had to admit I still did not feel quite myself yet from the Peryton attack and had to request a supporting arm from Dulkan to escort me to my rooms. Before the evening ended, however, Carric was clever enough to realize that should I not want my parents know about our precarious adventure, he could use his sorcery and mend my clothes with it. I was very happy about that, as the clothes that I was wearing were a hand-made gift from a dear friend from my childhood I growing up in Melenne. So, we retired for the night.

28th of Sunburst
Today Ladies Ashinka and Tuire finally arrived. As we knew we were pressed for time, the Ladies did not take much time recuperating from their long carriage ride and we all convened in the family room. Although library was usually the official conference room, our small party with a heartfelt agenda it felt more appropriate to meet in the less official and more intimate surroundings.

We needed to discuss practical matters: with the new rule a new ruler would also be needed. I sensed some tension amongst us four, at least my part and for Dulkan’s, as Lady Ashinka had the floor as she was the orchestrator of this coup. We could let out a sigh of relief as Lady Ashinka’s first choice for the ruler was Sir Morgath Kuon. However, as it was evident that Lady Ashinka had not envision herself as the ruler, we could not help but wonder what kind of position she had in mind for herself.

Mindful as we were that as we could not ask Sir Morgath’s consent, we had to have a second choice of who could fill the position of the leader. Lady Ashinka suggested my father; an idea which I met with delighted surprise. Unsurprisingly, my father was reluctant at this prospect. I could understand his feelings: the house of Nailo had survived centuries thanks to our family motto “This too shall pass”, thus understanding that rulers came and went, but our best chance of survival was to be involved in current affairs but from the shadows as not be too involved in any political agenda. When old rule gives way to the new one, figureheads are those in the chopping block. However, I had been inspired by the idea of new dragon-free rule, and the words Dulkan had spoken to me whilst I was struggling with my live after the Peryton attack yesterday. The long life of us elves would allow us to see clearly through the current matters and not let our sights be blinded by petty conflicts of interest of the present; also the personal memory of an elf spans decades, even centuries, allowing the lessons learned from the past to be clear in memory and not lost in dusty pages of history books. I declared my interest to be named a candidate but it seemed not to resonate well with the others. Lady Ashinka did as the rest of us tributaries their wish to be named as the leader, but all of them were of the opinion that we functioned best as a group, and their interest were to remain as a group. So, for the time being Sir Morgath was our first choice, and should negotiations fail, my father was the second choice. Other names might arise, but more important than the figurehead would be those members forming the council. It would be crucial not to let one person have too much power as our dealings with Baron Marram had so deleteriously proven. Thus the legislation for the new rule should limit the power of the leader to allow heeding to the advices of the council.

After we had settled these matters, Ladies Ashinka and Tuire took to their rooms to have a moment of rest to ready them for the three days journey to meet with their troops.

29th of Sunburst
The preparations for our campaign were well under way, and I participated to this in my own part. Dulkan had brought up the matter of the banner that would combine our group. As important as it was to have the banners of those supporting us, it would be just as important to have a new banner which would combine us all, indicating that while the old houses still stand these were now part of a larger body. After some brainstorming Dulkan and I decided that the old banner of Dusk Port with sun setting in the horizon would do perfectly as it was a symbol known to all. All we would do was to remove the figure of the red dragon the rule of Khariss had superimposed on the banner all those years ago.

As I was preparing for my departure, mother summoned me to her study. Absentminded as ever, though visibly concerned of what her catoptromancy had envisioned before her eyes. I know her visions to be vague at best. This time, however, it was not as difficult to interpret or as equivocal. The message she received through her intent session in front of a mirror was: “When the dragon left his lair and brought himself vulnerable, it would end in blood.” It could not be clearer: we should attempt to draw Baron outside the safety of the city walls, and be prepared for bloodshed. With an unusual show of affection my mother embraced me. This, more than the portent of message, was a forewarning that the encounter we were headed to was very dangerous and she had no way of knowing whether my father or I would come out alive, let alone victorious. I could leave Moon on the Rise with some reassurance, as although Bade was to join our troops with us, my mother would stay behind to look after the girls with Maria. Thus I need not worry about the safety of my whole family.

Just before I left for Melenne, Dulkan pressed a hand-written note to my hand as he was helping me mount my horse. I rid past our gate and into the dusk road leading to Melenne when I finally opened my hand and pressed the note to read it. Dulkan asked if I could order a surcote for Borel depicting a bear paw. I could very well understand his intention: Borel’s old surcote with a red dragon spreading all over his chest would not do under these circumstances.

As Dulkan suggested that we should find a tailor to sew these things for us, I immediately knew who to contact. I was happy that this urgent mission had provided me the possibility to meet my childhood friend turned seamstress, and as I needed to wait for her to sew it we would have plenty of time to catch up. This proved to be the case; as I had been anxious whether the order would finish in time, it was actually done quite a while earlier than when the caravan from Moon on the Rise finally reached Melenne and picked me up.

Thus, in our first leg of journey we did not reach far, but we were on our way. We stayed overnight with an elven family of our acquaintance as we were still in the mainly elven district of the northern parts of the Emerald Forest.

30th of Sunburst
Nothing much interesting happened. I practiced my singing and we kept up teaching Borel the ways with the lute.

1st of Reaping
I was glad that our party had several carriages as that meant that I could sit in a coach with my father or with my comrades of the tribute when it felt necessary. Fortunately we also had some horses so when I really needed time just for myself; I could take my turn riding one of the saddled horses. Of course, those riding a horse were responsible for setting up the camp or procuring lodgings, but I considered that was a small price to pay to have a moment alone.

2nd of Reaping
Today we finally reached the troops Ladies Ashinka and Tuire had been able to summon.

Althaea Nailo

View
Meeting at Melenne
10th Session

Meeting again at Moon on the Rise, the Party reunited. Borel had visited the woods, felling a bear and earning the respect of his totem animal. The stories were exchanged, and the Party went resting, waiting for Lady Ashinka’s arrival.

They needn’t wait long. On the next day, 28th of Sunburst, she arrived, and the negotiations for Dusk Coast’s future began. Lady Ashinka had secured the alliance of Lady Tuire and Winden. They had also sent out any militia they had scrounged near Duskport for the final approach to the city. She was also pleased with what the Party had done, and that apparently the entire endeavor was blessed by Mishra.

When the question of future leadership came up, Lady Ashinka’s suggestion was to make Sir Morgath Kuon, the leader of the Dragon Knights, the figurehead that the populace could rally around in the absence of a Dragon. This idea was received pretty much unanimously and allowed some of the party members breathe freely; Ashinka didn’t seem to push herself to a position of power. And when the conspirators named a secondary choice, since Kuon wasn’t a part of the group, her further choice was Lord Yaris. Though Yaris was hesitant and would have preferred Ashinka to take the proverbial crown, the Party agreed that he, as a non-dragonborn, would be the better choice. But still, there was some questions remaining for Ashinka Drusia’s motives that were left unanswered.

The next step would be the march to Duskport and the negotiations with Baron Marram. With the support of the Druids, their envoy would have to be taken seriously, forcing Marram to either launch an attack which would drive the region to civil war or to negotiate. Lady Ashinka, along with the Party, hoped for the latter.

So the next day, 29th of Sunburst Party prepared for their second return to Duskport. Dulkan pondered the nature of dragonic power with Carric, trying to find foothold for his theory about the Divines. While their meeting bore little fruit, the thirst for knowledge still existed. Althea visited the city, finding a seamstress to sew a new flag for the as of yet unnamed future Dusk Coast nation: Khariss’ banner of a Red Dragon over the sunlit evening sea, just with the dragon removed. Borel, in a quiet communion with Ochrana, determined that the Divine would approve the destruction of the Baron’s power… As long as blood was spilt.

Just before Althea was ready to leave, Anthea called her. Althea’s mother’s divinations had given her a troubling vision: When the dragon left his lair and brought himself vulnerable, it would end in blood. Armed with this glimmer of knowledge, the Party headed on, towards a fated meeting that would change the coast. It would be the 2nd of Reaping when they would reach the army Ladies Ashinka and Tuire…

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Sylvan meditations

It is vespertide. We retrace our steps through the Emerald Forest. All around the mighty arboreal columns stand, hushing the winds and capturing the waning light in their canopy. But the air is becoming chill, and even the highest leaves must shed their aureate lustre and cease their mute orisons by the advent of night. A moon-still night! — a long rest for us weary ones, but merely an exhalation for them, those blind sentinels who keep watch over the passing of centuries. Truly, here is a majestic fane of Mishra, and I, Dulkan, have seen her sign.

Roots and trails vermiculate the ground, working their ways among the tufts and hummocks, oblivious of aims, following no order save the instinctive filigree of nature. Borel too felt the call of the wild, and so he does not walk by my side now. I would judge his character with these words: what we, his fellows, view as delicately drawn lines of reasoning are to him strands of spider silk athwart his path. They tickle but do not bind.

I confess there is a thirst for freedom in me as well, a desire I have suffered with great ardour in my vigils at the battlements of Kolmhaag. Do not laugh, elusive woodland dryad, for I was never a thrall of my name. Hist! You may deem the dragontail unsightly and a sore, but you could not guess that, in the hands of an artful gardener, its sapling can be coerced over the seasons with saw and rope into a thing of noble beauty. And what would I be without the rigours of my rearing? Not much more than a roadside weed, though perhaps happier, in some way. Thus, I have always seen the world in these opposing shades: the austere light of discipline on one side and the alluring dark of caprice on the reverse. There is no easy balance between the two.

We come to a twilit glade, a pair of thrushes take wing — an augury! The feeling of profound revelation returns, the inner shiver that shook me as I saw the throne of Cantheon. There, by some transmundane power, craft and growth had been joined together without discord. Perhaps, then, a man may also grow into greatness in the gentle guidance of the divine forces. And if this be so for a man, why not for an entire realm of people? The blessing of Mishra is with us…

View
Althaea's Journal IX
Session 9

Althaea’s journal entry for 25th of Sunburst continues

As I was waiting for my comrades to wake up, Jarvis brought me a note from Borel. Evidently he had felt an urge for hunting to appease his restless spirit. So it appeared that I had to have my earnest discussion with him some other day. I did not know whether to be relieved or vexed. However, I knew this would do Borel good, so I let my feelings subside.

As Carric and Dulkan emerged from their chambers and joined me in the family room after having breakfast, I showed them the letter Borel had left behind. We all accepted that this was something he had to do, and we just had to make our plans accordingly. Next on the list of agenda was to contemplate on the druid issue and what possible ways we could have to try to negotiate them to our side. Dulkan was concerned that we should not oppress or extort them. I reassured him that no alliance is strong-holding if it is achieved through treachery or coercion. Be that as it may, there were likely some real benefits in the alliance for the druids, and we only needed to find out what those benefits might be. The best way to do that is to know your potential confederate. Thus, off to the library we went, Carric and I.

I do not know how Dulkan spent his day, but Carric and I made with our time at the large and well-equipped library of Moon on the Rise. Our large library did indeed – after some searching – contain as many as two books on such an elusive and obscure subject as the druids: they truly keep to themselves. From the book that I found I learned that the druids were involved in the Emerald Forest from its beginnings. An elven city had been built in the forest, and the druids had been named those who were to maintain a balance between the city and the forest, people and nature. Evidently they had failed in their duty, since the forest had gone wild with only ruins were left from the city. Another bit of information I was able to acquire was that while the druids were very independent, they heeded to an arch druid, and one at some point in their history was a druid called Mise.

After Carric had spent the whole day reading a book he had found, he had a stroke of luck; in this book were detailed accounts on some of the customs and rituals the druids adhered to. Firstly, apparently as visitors come, they are to perform a friendship ritual of sort by presenting a gift to represent themselves and a gift to represent their land. Second, while the druids were quarrelsome and discordant bunch, they all respected the ritual of spirit communion. It seemed to be a ritual where the fortuitous pledger might receive a signal from numen.

Whilst Carric and I were immersed in our studies, my father arrived. With father, Dulkan came back to the house from doing whatever he was doing. We passed intelligence, and I related him the idea of invoking the druids to our cause. He was surprised but pleased that I had thought of something that had not even occurred to him. My father, however, was the harbinger of alarming news: the Baron in his lunacy had sent messages to surrounding dragons appealing to them to take over our land; supposedly he believed they would allow him to remain the acting ruler of the district. What idiocy, what folly! The dragons are unpredictable at best, and perhaps the next dragon would not even be eager to let the people be, as Khariss had done, apart from the yearly tribute and an occasional kill. Maybe the next dragon would not want adulation but annihilate all inhabitants of the region.
Sense of urgency was upon us, and we made haste with our preparations for tomorrow’s expedition. We had to come up with appropriate gifts to present to the druids. I asked for the fish-pie recipe Carric had procured from the cook we met after saving the boatful of fisherman in our journey to Arry (so long ago it seemed now!). I borrowed the kitchen, and although I do not have the habit of making baked goods, I was able to rustle up a decent smelling and looking pie. This was to represent me as a guest. It required more contemplation to come up with something representing the land. Finally it came to me: I should bring them Anthea seeds! It would make a very appropriate gift. Carric’s gift to represent himself was some copied recipes of the potions and brews he had found in our adventure in Assarna; Dulkan decided to part from his halberd.

26th of Sunburst
In the morning, prepared well for the consignment, we set for the Circle of Spring and the hamlet of the druids. I knew the way as I had visited the place couple of times as a child growing up in Moon on the Rise.

The journey took a few hours but before very long we could see a clearing in the forest up ahead. We stepped out from the edge of the woods and in to the sunlight illuminating a forum and dwellings surrounding it. Some of the houses were burrowed in small mounds and hills, like little gopher’s nest. Some were built using twigs and branches, around growing tree, utilizing it as a support structure. Others had grass roofs, looking too like mole hills. The forum was busy and some druids were seen coming in and out of their huts, some hurrying somewhere looking self-important, and others locked in heated, almost vitriolic discussions. Apparently however bickering bunch they were, apparently liked arguing and disagreement so much as to opt to live close to each other instead of hermit-like life in abodings scattered farther apart.

As soon as we stepped out in to the forum, a druid hurriedly approached us. He greeted us, and we introduced ourselves and presented the gifts. This druid, called Zoon, was more interested in what we had to offer than our purpose of coming there, or who we were. He quickly accepted us as his guests; apparently the protocol was that the first one to accept the visitors under his patronage, or hosting their visit, that person would get the boons. We asked to meet the arch druid, and found that the current arch druid was called Cantheon. We were pointed towards a hut, but as Zoon as saw some other druids approaching he quickly retreated back to the hut he had emerged to greet us. Swiftly he went through the boons and abandoned everything but the fish-pie, which he hid underneath his robes as he bolted back to his hut. The druids approaching us next were somewhat vexed that, apparently again, Zoon had jumped to the opportunity to greet new visitors taking their gifts. I had been concerned how well we and our offerings would be received, but evidently there would have been no concern at all: apparently hosting guest was a task every druid seemed eager to undertake as it meant endowment. The next druid was also more interested in what of the presents Zoon had discarded, and selected Carric’s potion recipes from the pile.

Provided then only with Dulkan’s halberd and my Anthea seeds we approached the arch druid’s residence. There were two druids making their case before their arch druid, with heart-felt offence in their expressions. Our approach went unnoticed, so engaged they were in their debate. After a while, however, the arch druid noticed us, and asked what it was that we were after. We presented ourselves, indicating that we were the guests of Zoon as he was the first one to greet us and take us under his hospitality. We then offered the little we had left for the arch druid. He took them paying little notice on the artefacts. But, we had heeded to customs, and now we could present our case.

With all my eloquence, every perspective of profit I presented for the arch druid that an alliance with us would bring, he remained unmoved. Dulkan attempted to negotiate with him as well, but to no avail; the druids just were not interested in joining us, no ideals pleaded with them. They considered themselves independent already, and possible dragon oppression did not concern any of them. Finally Carric found the answer: the only things all druids believed in, the only thing joined them, were rites and rituals they performed, especially that of the spirit communion. Thus, Carric proposed that we could go to their Tree of Ash to perform this ritual to seek a sign of approval from numen. Some snorts were heard in the audience; voices of astonishment and even reprehension that a non-druid should know of such a thing, and daring to suggest performing the ritual. However, the arch druid gave us permission, as he considered the ritual was free to be performed by anyone who knew how – and thus others had to conform.

Next, we needed to find the place where the ritual was to be performed – the Tree of Ash – and find five herbs required for the ritual. Three paths led into the forest from the forum – eastern, southern and western path – but we had no way of knowing which one led to the Tree of Ash. As we selected one and ventured into the woods we could hear snickering from some of the on-looking druids. The path forked several times, and what there was seemed to me almost like a maze. We decided to keep heading south; however the paths forked, we would choose a path leading to south, allowing retracing our way back to the druid hamlet.

We came to a small glade, where we found the ruins of the fallen civilization: a broken obelisk. The glade was bordered from the south by a brook and on the other side of the brook was a rock-face and the path continued there. This was the path we should take, should we wish to remain taking the southern turn of the road. Dulkan suggested that he should cross the brook to get a quick look what would be up ahead along that path. He needed to cross the brook, and nicely he did it too. His clothes and boots got wet, of course, from crossing the water. Not much of interest was to be found there, so he crossed the river back.

As the walk to the druid hamlet and negotiations had taken quite long, dusk was already settling. We were not sure whether to press on or to camp for the night. However, we were tempted to see if there would be a better campsite on the path continuing on our side of the brook. We decided not to cross the brook as neither I nor Carric were too keen on getting wet, but keep walking the path a while. As we continued forwards, a mist begun to form, and soon the road up ahead was covered in thick mist. Suddenly we heard someone sobbing. As we all strained our ears to hear better whether it was someone truly in trouble, or whether it was just a rouse to lead as into a trap, I saw a form gliding in unnatural way in the mist, apparently looking for something. Alarmed by this I whispered Carric and Dulkan that we should retreat and go back to the glade where we had found the broken obelisk. Quietly we retreated back, and fortunately both the mist and the creature in the mist did not follow us back.

We opted to camp there that night; Dulkan had to dry his wet clothes as not to catch pneumonia. I did not have a bedroll, so I suggested that, to keep warm, I should lay by his side underneath the same bedroll. Luckily Dulkan did not let false modesty to restrain him from this prudent and healthy choice, and he accepted.

27th of Sunburst
Dulkan’s clothes and boots had dried up during the night, and neither I nor Dulkan had caught a cold for we had kept warm sleeping in the heat generated by our bodies. After we had breakfast Dulkan suggested he should climb the cliff to get an overview of the area, as we had no idea where the Tree of Ash could be. Carric casted a spell which would allow Dulkan to walk the vertical surface of the cliff as if it was horizontal. First he had to cross the brook again, of course.

As we were peering to see Dulkan against the rising sun I suddenly saw a form in the sky. With a head of a deer and the body of a raptor it was species called Peryton, as Carric later identified. It was clearly about to attack Dulkan, so I cried out a warning. We could see the foul fiend over a hundred feet away, but neither the spells of Carric’s nor mine could reach that far. We had no alternative but to watch helplessly as the creature flew closer to Dulkan. But as soon as we got it in our reach, we hit it with everything we had! It was not long before the creature spiralled down, dead. But our triumph was short-lasting; two more of the same species came not far behind.

As we could not concentrate all our arcane might this time, this round of fight was considerably tougher than the first one. While our spells were successful, there were two creatures we had to divide our attacks to, and they reached us quickly. I had a successful spell, which fixed their sights on me. The one in point took a dive straight towards me. I could fend of its attempt to ram me with its antlers, but then, both of its claws got me! It took a firm grip of me with its left claw and its crushing grip prevented me from breathing; I could feel my ribs cracking under the relentless pressure. While holding me still with its left claw, it had a firm hold to lacerate me with its right, leaving behind four gushing wounds cut through my flesh on my right side. My consciousness blurred in visions of red, pain and pulsing lights before blissful unconsciousness overtook me.

My consciousness shifted like waves undulating against the shore, towards awareness and back in unconsciousness. I could hear – at least I think I could hear – both Carric and Dulkan calling for me, pleading for me to fight, to come back, not to give in. I do not know how long I was unconscious, but after some time floating somewhere beyond conscious mind I knew that I was coming back in this reality, and the pain from my wounds surged over me. Barely able to think, I reached for my flute to sing my spell for curing wounds. To date I still believe that the first spell I performed was my music resounding inside my mind rather than being something I was able to sound outside of me.

As soon as I could focus my mind and I could fix my eyes to something beyond the capsuling pain surrounding me, I could see the troubled looks on Dulkan’s and Carric’s faces. I was able to articulate that I was all right; and after performing a few more spells to cure my wounds I truly was. We did not have much time for rest, as we were pressed for time. Actually, I was almost myself again anyway, as I had cured the worst of my wounds with my magic. We decided to follow the path continuing on the other side of the brook, so Dulkan crossed it yet again. As it was his fifth time crossing, he knew the best place for crossing it. Carric at my left elbow and Dulkan in the other, I was able to cross it too, without any mishaps. At that moment I felt blessed to have two such concerned and caring companions to be by my side in this adventure.

Carric had been able to locate all five of the required herbs for the spell along our walk down the paths towards the Tree of Ash. Finally providence was on our side; at last this path was the right one and it led to the glade where we found the Tree of Ash. Carric set up the ritual and lighted a fire using the herbs he had gathered. I was sitting with my back against a tree and I felt a sense of tranquillity inside me. The herbs were smoking in the fire and their pleasurable and mellowing scent was in the air, while leafs were rustling from a slight breeze and occasional bird sang its song in the trees. After the exertions of the day, this serenity and calm of the glade aroused a feeling of happiness and gratitude, and I wanted to join the music the fabric of being was resounding, and I lifted my flute again to my lips. I played a tune which was that of my hearts; or maybe it was the music from the surrounding forest that formed into sound through me. The silvery notes from my flute, the breeze in the trees and the song of the birds seemed to make the smoke coming from Carric’s fire to dance; it made swirls and curls beautiful and enjoyable to watch. As I looked mesmerized at the smoke dancing to my music, I suddenly saw it form a familiar shape: an eight-pointed star behind an eye of a dragon. Behind the sign of Mishra was the shape of a large dragon. I knew we had been blessed: this was the sign we had been looking for. After the smoke cleared, caught in the branches of the Tree of Ash was a loose sprig blossoming with the most beautiful white flower formed from eight pointy pedals. I picked it up and drew its scent, and it was the most pleasurable fragrance.

We all knew that we had to leave this enchanted place, so we took our leave. The serenity of the glade and reassurance of mind did not leave me for long, and I could not begin to trouble myself too much with things to come. We retraced our steps to the forum outside the druid hamlet to show them the sign we had been given. Our party again stepping from the woods, now to campfire-lit forum, with me in the lead, holding the branch put the whole druid community in an uproar. It had been ten years since anyone had had a sign, so this indeed was a token that the spirits were favourable to our cause. We presented this to Cantheon, and now we were able to begin negotiations.

While there was some discord among the druids on the level of commitment, we were able to negotiate some help from the druids. Cantheon could not agree to an alliance equal to the position that Arry agreed to take; we were given a pledge that when we should call for aid, we would receive it. To cement this treaty, we were introduced a druid called Vex, who was to be our envoy. Thus, he joined our party as we walked back to Moon on the Rise.

Althaea Nailo

View
The Vision in the Woods
9th Session

The Party began their plans at getting the help of the Druids by research. They scoured the Nailo estate library for any information on the Circle of the Spring, as they were called. They discovered a book about the subject, one that Carric immediately started poring over.

At the same time, Yaris Nailo arrived to the Moon on the Rise, along with Anthea. Both brought ill tidings; The Baron was tightening his grip on Duskport, and had probably already sent messages inviting some dragons to take over the region. Anthea’s divinations had too failed, both because of the chaotic times, and because of magical shields preventing scrying on the Marram. Time was indeed running short.

Still, there was hope. The Party found a particular quirk of the druidic circle; While the group was bickering and dissimilar, they adhered to their ancient rituals, a few of them which were described in the book. The Party prepared themselves and set off in the morning, bearing gifts in order to placate the druids. Borel had however went off hunting on his own, and was absent for the upcoming trek.

The next day, 26th of Sunburst, the Party arrived in the druid encampment. Soon they learned that the druids were difficult to negotiate with, as they liked to bicker with each other. But the gifts and proper guest rites brought them access to the Archdruid Cantheon, an impressive, scarred dragonborn.

The Party presented their ideals valiantly, but their message did not find roots in the Archdruid’s heart. The druids had lived for centuries alone in their woods, not disturbing and not being disturbed by anyone. Joining a grand upheaval would set a troubling precedent for their political independence. Just as the hope began to fade, the subject of the want of the nature spirits was brought up. The Archdruid sent the Party on a mission to commune with the spirits of the nature in the nearby sacred tree, clearly hoping that this doomed quest would discourage the envoy and send them back home. The Party accepted, hoping that this act would buy some trust from Cantheon.

So deeper into the woods they went. Adeptly navigating their way in the twisting pathways of the Emerald Forest, the Party eventually discovered a clearing with a totem overlooking a river flowing through and an impressive cliff face. After gathering the herbs needed for the communion ritual, the party traveled further as darkness fell. They happened upon another clearing, covered in unnatural mist. A faint sobbing was heard in the mist, giving the heroes a difficult choice: To investigate or to ignore? Eventually Althea’s keen eyes spotted an unnatural character in the fog, and the Party retreated, avoiding a potentially hazardous confrontation.

Afraid to further explore the dark, imposing forest, the party camped in the river clearing, eagerly awaiting for some sunlight. And as 27th of Sunburst dawned, Dulkan decided to climb the cliff to get a better view of the situation. Aided by Carric’s magic, his ascent was short. But at the top, he found only a path deeper south… And apparently garnered the ire of three flying creatures. With the body of a great raptor and the head of a stag, these Perytons descended upon the party. Only by the barrage of magic brought on by Althea and Carric were the creatures defeated, but not before they gave the Party a fright by nearly killing the elven bard. However, Althea proved to be stronger than what she seemed, as she rose up a couple of hours later, no worse for wear except for torn finery.

Meanwhile, Dulkan had braved the path behind the cliff alone, and found their goal: A serene circle of stones underneath a great tree. After Althea’s recovery, the Party arrived to the circle and performed the ritual. Despite every source being pessimistic about it working, the Party encountered a vision: Mishra’s sign, along with a great, white dragonic silhouette. After they woke, surprised at the shared vision, they also found a branch bearing the tree’s flower that had appeared as they dreamed.

The Party brought this branch back, utterly surprising the druids. Bound by the rites, the Archdruid stated that the Party had Mishra’s blessing. And while he was still uncertain whether they could join the new order, the druids promised to help. With this promise, and a druidic envoy, the Party returned, wondering about the significance of the vision…

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