From Bartholomew's Journals: of Fortune and Fools

(written by Phil, player of Bartholomew Pettibone, regarding the recent expedition undertaken by the Survivors of the Tel; this retelling of events earns Bart 100 xp per level)

Even as the story of the foolhardy bravery of Gan ad-Din and his poisoning begin to circulate, following the letter delivered to the dancing-girl Istrid at the Kantor Kabljauhof (by a cloaked Bartholomew Pettibone, no less!), a separate story begins to make the rounds--a sequel, as it were, ginned up no doubt by the assurances offered to Istrid by Bart that Gan is indeed not dead:

From the Journals of Bartholomew Pettibone, of the House Pettibone

A Purveyor of Enchanting Sorcery

23 July 2021

Fortune Favors the Bold

(and sometimes the foolish)

The s'ro are not gods!

The s'ro are merely intelligent reptilians, similar to sakkra, large and infinitely more interesting than sakkra, but certainly not gods. Ha! And so haughty! How could gods be forgotten – dumped into the shadows of history and buried under deep veils of dust – lost to the memory of common folk? And how could a god be fooled by a fool?

It has been a feverish week, we have been engaged in frenzied research (myself, Ravna, and Hey-Jo), in consultation with Bob, and I have been unable to write my usual notes. During our most recent excursion onto the island, Gan was mortally wounded during a fierce battle with a floating ru'un, and he was ultimately exposed to a massive amount of poisoned light. He was dying, wasting away quickly, and I have been singularly focused on finding him a remedy – I owe him, we all owe him, our lives!

With Bob's assistance we were able to develop an antidote for the poisoned light, but Bob was clear that the antidote would only be efficacious if administered very soon after exposure to the toxins. A cure for longer-term, more chronic exposure might be found, but this was not to be it. Iodine appeared to be the key – found in seawater and the residue of seaweeds, or else in the matrix of certain rare, blue dyes. Gan was cleansed of the toxins, but remains weak and bed-ridden. I am certain that in time he will recover his full strength, but alas, it appears that his left hand has been burned beyond the ability of my simple magic to repair – properly.

Using our time wisely, Razo and Raoden (again, with Bob's assistance) were able to repair the teleportation pads upon our vessel. Thanks to this device, we sent Avin back to the bowels of the klackon spire (into the hidden basement of the 6^th House), where we had left Killick the warrior, so many weeks before. It was a gamble, but we trusted that Killick had done as we requested, had remained hidden, biding her time and protecting the teleportation pad at her location. Luck favored our first foolish gamble, and by the end of the week we were able to transport Gan to Killick's location, to a safe quiet haven, to rest and to keep Killick company. As well, Avin was sent to retrieve more supplies, and eliste the assistance of Sesel and our good friend Durham, as well as Pako, the Renyu. The supplies and our companions were all transported to our location, aboard Bob, using the teleportation device. What a remarkable device!

And so, with renewed morale, the addition of reinforcements, and a more enlightened awareness of our foes, we advanced our agenda!

We departed Bob earlier in the predawn darkness than on our two previous sorties, carrying one of our lead-lined barrels between Avin and Raoden. It seemed odd not having Gan to bear the load, or the light. We found that our presence on the island, and our underground shenanigans, had left the Denyali and the sakkra in a heightened, frenzied state of anticipation. Patrols were about, and watch-camps had been set up at numerous locations around the island, as well as near the ruins – blocking easy entrance through the underground passages. But we knew of a hidden door into the tower, located on the upper escarpment. Yes, there were guards there too, but their number were few, and it seemed there was little concern on their part that the concealed entrance was known to any intruders. We felt it less risky to attempt entrance at that hidden door, than through the well-guarded tunnels below, and so we made for the higher ground of the tower.

But first we had to penetrate a ring of watch-fires, and many Denyali warriors. Sesel, Avin, and Roaden crept quietly through the shadows between two of the guard camps, then lay hidden in the darkness near the base of the escarpment. As the rest of us prepared to traverse the same path, fuel was dumped upon one of the closest fires, and as the flames increased, the accompanying light illuminated our crouching forms. The Denyali who were present – five of them – appeared startled to see us, and their moment of bewilderment gave me the opportunity to wrap the arcana about them, dropping them into a deep slumber. We left them crumpled in their places, and Sesel pushed a hypnotic suggestion into their dreams – that they had simply fallen asleep while on duty, and were ashamed to mention it.

Up the escarpment we shuffled, barrel and all. Near the top, Sesel placed an arcane ventriloquism upon a spooked lizard, one of the myriad small creatures that dwell in the rubble surrounding the ruins. It scurried off into the darkness calling loudly to the guards above: “Hear me! I am Ergha Kiergan! Attend and follow where I lead! Be quick – do not question – or you will suffer the agonizer!” As the lizard sped off into the ruins, with the disembodied voice calling out into the darkness, confusion fell upon the guards. After a scant moment of hesitation and argument, they followed, leaving the hidden entrance unguarded. Apparently, the threat of the 'agonizer' is not to be trifled with. We approached the door, handily found the opening latch, and entered the tower unchallenged.

The space we entered was empty, and dark. A dim light was produced, and we descended the central, spiral staircase to the floor below. We found several groups of sakkra guards posted at various choke-points, but they apparently were not expecting us from the direction we approached. Sesel boldly strolled forth to mind-stun one small group of guards, in order to clear our path. However, his attention must have been less focused as expected. As he realized his psychic ability was weaker than intended, and panic filled his visage, Hey-Jo wrapped the arcana, and whispered the words that would bring deep sleep. Our adversaries all dropped into sweet, deep slumber, before an alarm could be sounded. Again, Sesel tapped into their dreams and left the suggestion that they had seen nothing untoward, and had merely fallen asleep on watch, and were embarrassed to talk about it.

Further and deeper into the complex we moved – quietly, and with purpose. By using Durham's scanning device, we were able to pinpoint and evade other guards, and were also able to locate a significantly powerful energy source – on the second floor. And so we made our way down and across the Bridge of Gan's doom!

All was quiet, and while we feared more ru'un to be present, none appeared. Through a double set of wide doors we passed – into a massive, rough hewn chamber. It appeared that we had stumbled blindly into the 'mine'. Crude stairs led down to the floor of the chamber, and several quite large metallic containers could be seen near the base of those stairs – ore-laden crates. And there was no sign of attendants. Perhaps luck was truly going to stay with us!

I crept down the stairs, leaving my comrades to guard the entrance, and investigated the containers. The doors of the crates were not held fast, but as I began opening the first, I realized it was massively heavy. Knowing that thick sheets of certain metals can reduce or eliminate the dangers of the poisoned light, and figuring that these containers might hold the ores we sought, I quickly shut the door, before it had been opened more than a crack. It would not be prudent to end up like the wretches at the miners' enclave – or like poor Gan!

A protection against the poisoned light was woven around me, I opened one of the containers, and began packing our barrel, tightly and with great care, full of the precious, energy-producing ore. I found the ore to be glassy and brittle in nature, and I required the use of Sesel's armored gauntlets to protect my hands from being shredded by the sharp edges. Meanwhile, my companions remained on the stairs above, safe from the poison of the ore, and on guard for intruders. It took time, at least the burning of one full flask of lantern oil, but finally the barrel was filled and sealed. We cleaned Sesel's gloves, and then prepared for our escape. Durham and Pako led the way, using Pako's senses and Durham's scanner to determine if our escape path was clear. Sesel accompanied them, invisible and prepared to create a distraction, while the rest of us huddled within the bounds of a veil of silence that Ravna summoned from the arcana. With the clever use of his psychic clairvoyance, and a few close calls, we were able to remove ourselves to the upper level, and decided to make our way out through the tunnels – instead of returning along the same route we had entered.

We found the tunnel unguarded at this hour of the day – and by now, it was indeed daylight. We would not have the cover of darkness to aid a covert escape, but it was also obvious that guardianship was lax – perhaps other, mundane duties called? As it was, Sesel, being invisible, was able to distract the few guards that were present, calling at them and having them give chase. The rest of us, under the protection of the silent veil, made our way quickly through the ruins, across the scrubby highlands, down the cliffs to our 'beach', and toward the safe confines of Bob.

Sesel returned to us later, as I was involved with the greatest folly of my life (so far). He later entertained us with the story of how he bested a literal giant of a warrior (without ever having to land a blow), and made away with a magnificent helmet. The helmet was found to be similar to the one Gan used, which we had pilfered from the 'Facility', but instead of a hound's head, it formed into that of a s'ro.

But what was my folly? I will attempt to relate it in as much detail as I can recall.

Upon returning to the rocky beach, we signaling for Bob to attend us. As Bob appeared and we prepared to embark, a massive, winged s'ro angled around the northern headland, gliding through the morning mist, and spied us. As it neared, I recalled the old man in the miner's enclave had mentioned something about how the language of the Q'noliya was used to control these beasts. And so, with a loud, confident voice, I summoned my mastery of that ancient language and called out to the s'ro, in a strong, confident voice: “S'ro, attend your master, land at my feet and submit!” Almost immediately the s'ro focused it's gaze upon me, and landed with a decidedly solid thud on the jumbled rocks of the beach, cutting off our escape to Bob. Truly it was a thing to behold – one of the giant, many-legged, winged s'ro out of dusty legend. It wore a sort of leather bandoleer, holding two large, sheathed swords. And as it reared high and folded it's wings, the eyes of that frilled, feathered head swiveled and it's eyes focused upon me. It roared, “Who are you, such an insignificant speck of an ape-child, that would dare garble the tongue of the ancients?” Everyone stood quite still in sudden shock – it could speak! And it was not in a cheerful mood.

I stood my ground (although my legs seemed close to failure), and I spoke steadily and forcefully, “I am Bartholomew Pettibone, of the Great House of Pettibone, of the Ancient Lineage that slew the greater part of your kindred – It is I that dares speak to such a lowly s'ro. Explain to me how it is that you have escaped your doom – entreat me with a humorous tale – and perhaps we will allow you to survive another day!”

The frill feathers at the nape of the s'ro's neck bristled and flared – and it became clear that my bluff may indeed turn out to be the greatest folly I ever committed. I was fully prepared to be crushed into dirt by this massive beast. Yet, it laughed, a gurgling, sibilant laugh – it tasted the nearby air with it's long tongue, and slurred, “Puny child of apes, your bluster is meaningless. You will deliver tribute to us, the gods who rule over these islands – or the meat of your bodies will fill my gullet, and your bones will join the sands of this beach, becoming insignificant dust!”

My companions, noting how the s'ro was singularly focused on me and my arrogance, slowly (and still aided by the silent veil) made their way onto Bob, and to relative safety. As I saw them begin shuffling toward Bob, I paced a few steps away from the direction of Bob, hoping to draw the attention of the s'ro to me, aiding their escape. It worked, and as I paced aside, I pulled my skin of wine, took a good long drink, knowing perhaps it would be my last, then held it high at arm's length, offering it to the s'ro, “Wine, young and naive s'ro, is the only tribute you will receive from your betters – do you even dare drink with me? This is not just common wine, but the most superior, sought-after, and heady vintage fermented only from the rarest fruits of the Mysrian vineyards.”

This incensed the s'ro and locked it's attention even tighter onto myself. It's eyes widened, and I feared it would literally bite my head off, but it's neck feathers smoothed down (a touch) and it began chuckling (not a pleasant sound from a s'ro). It gently plucked the wine-skin from my outstretched hand, and guzzled it's entirety, tossing the empty bag to the ground. “Again, miserable ape-child, provide the tribute that your kind owe the gods, and it may be that your lives – which are now forfeit – might be spared. We might allow you to live and work in our mines – if that can be called living.”

I continued pacing back and forth, moving toward Bob, then away, all the time engaging in conversation. I scoffed at the s'ro: “Work in the mines? Deliver tribute? You misunderstand – it is you who owes tribute to us. But wait, you call yourself a god – that cannot be! Your kind have been lost to the annals of time – forgotten – the motes of your memory have been spread thin. How can gods be forgotten? You are not gods; you are false usurpers who were crushed and cast aside in ages past by stronger, more wise and learned men. Children of apes, indeed! I scorn your lackluster existence. You claim these pitiful islands, and these miserable island wretches, as yours to command? Ha! The nobles of my land would not even deem these islands fit to be used as stepping stones. You have been relegated to the most barren, least productive lands known to all sentient beings! You are living under the heavy yoke of delusion! You are not a god – how can gods be so easily overcome and pitched away as refuse; forgotten, known only as a diluted footnote in droll stories told to infants and children?”

I believe it was at this point that the s'ro had no choice but to crush me under it's many feet – yet, it persisted in conversing. “Human, the inhabitants of this island worship us, we who serve the greater god Va'al. They toil under our direction, and they bring everything to us. It is the s'ro who command these lands, and all who dare walk upon the dirt, fly in the air, or move upon the waters! You insolent monkey, gaze upon my magnificence, and prepare to die!” The s'ro drew it's two blades and stepped closer toward me, exclaiming, “Tribute is demanded – and tribute will be delivered!”

Whatever I had eaten before we began our early morning excursion was now churning wildly in my stomach, and was on the verge of being tossed. But I held my ground. My companions were all now safely aboard Bob, and I was feverishly trying to wrap my mind around how I was going to extricate myself from certain, painful, inglorious death. Quite suddenly, I felt the invisible hand of Sesel place an object in my palm, and his disembodied whisper in my ear, “Press the stud, and you will become invisible.” And then his presence was gone. Sesel had finally returned from his diversionary escape, and while the s'ro and I conversed, he had made his way quietly and unseen (being invisible) to the rocky beach, to stand close beside me.

Emboldened, I continued to taunt the s'ro, holding one hand out forcefully, flat palm facing the beast: “Stand still, lizard! You claim to be a god, but who are you? What is your name? You are an unknown – a forgotten dream. There is nobody who calls to you in prayer – or even in anguish! Again I ask, how can a god be forgotten – what god would sway over such a paltry, weak, pathetic kingdom? S'ro, you have been duped. The Psilons have enthralled you, just as they enthrall ru'un. It is you who are doing their bidding, it is you who fears their wrath. And it is me and mine who travel unstoppable through their lands – destroying their ru'un as if they were mere toys, laying low swaths of their paltry Denyali and sakkra servants with but a wave of my hand, walking away with whatever 'tribute' we claim for ourselves. Oh, my dear, sweet, naive s'ro, the Psilons are most certainly using you, and it is we who the Psilons fear, and cannot touch. Who are the gods here, little s'ro? Who are the true masters?”

In retrospect, perhaps that was pushing it a bit far. The s'ro reared again, towering over me, swords unsheathed and held high. It's neck frill flared broadly and shuddered, making a noisome rattle, and it laughed loudly. “I am S'rilorien – and if you have not heard of me, then you have not paid attention to the annals of history! The Psilons do not command the s'ro – imbecile – it is s'ro who have forced them to our will – they deliver the greatest tribute to us and to our benefactor, Great Va'al! Gaze your last upon my glorious form, and prepare to die!”

Upon hearing that I steeled myself for death, but calmly continued pacing and called, “S'rilorien, you truly cannot expect me to believe that you are anything other than a forgotten blight that has been wiped from the memories of civilization. The Psilons laugh behind your back, as they reap the rewards of all of these islands. And they are like weak v'rrp compared to me and mine. We have stripped them of their most prized vessel, we have squashed their every attempt to discover us, we wade through their minions as if they were but stalks of annoying grass beneath our boots, and we take from them what we will – and they are powerless to stop us. As are you. Do not tempt me to destroy you. With a whisper of my breath I could push your mind into unending nightmares – but I will stay your execution, if you but submit and stop this folly.”

S'rilorien was taken aback, sputtering and rattling it's frill at the sound my insolent words. It then roared in violent anger. I fully expected that those long blades would slice me in two. But the blow did not come, and S'rilorien hissed at me, “Foolish, puny, uneducated ape-child – it is the Denyali who serve the Psilons, who in turn serve the s'ro, and the greater will of Va'al! I will take you to them, and you will work the mines until your body falls ill, and your faculties depart. They will flay the skin from your body as you toil in the darkness of the mines! And then they will bring your wasted, withered carcass before me, and I will toss your miserable, wretched frame down at the feet of Va'al, and you will be crushed into an eternity of despair!”

Yes, I was certain that I was dead. There was nothing left to say or do. My mind reeled. Why, oh why, was I continuing to taunt this massive s'ro?! Absolute foolishness! I paced a bit toward Bob, then quickly looked up into the sky, past S'rilorien and gasped, calling out loudly, and laughing, “Oh for fuck's sake! Hahaha! And here I was, beginning to believe you might actually be akin to a lesser god – when another of your kind comes winging in. S'rilorien, you don't even have the courage to face me alone!” I pointed past the creature (at an imaginary s'ro, behind him), and exclaimed: “You have only tried to placate me, to tease me, to entertain me, while waiting for another of your ken to attend us – to reinforce your weak attack upon me and mine!”

S'rilorien, startled and taken aback, swiveled it's head and gaze away from me for an instant, toward empty air. It was a ridiculous attempt at a ruse, but it worked, giving me the break I required. I pressed the stud on the device Sesel had placed in my hand, and I vanished from sight. I then took several quick, quiet steps away from the direction of Bob, and the gaze of S'rilorien, dropped to the ground, into a fetal position, and hugged a boulder as close as I could, remaining as quiet as possible.

Sr'lorien quickly discovered that there was no additional s'ro approaching – no comrades, no reinforcements – and swung it's head back toward where I had stood. It stared blankly for a moment at where I had been, and numbly looked all about. Finding me completely and utterly gone, S'rilorien opened it's mouth wide, exposing a mouth full of dangerously sharp teeth, and let out a piercing, wailing screech! I wanted to cover my ears, but was afraid to move. S'rilorien strode and stamped about, swinging the two swords wildly; they passed over me, whistling through the air. The s'ro continued bellowing, searching for me for what seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly it turned it's gaze upon Bob – only to witness Sesel smiling, waving farewell, and pulling the deck-hatch closed. S'rilorien bellowed and rose in the air, and dove toward Bob, just as the vessel began to sink below the surface. The s'ro followed Bob under the waves, and I wondered if it's attacks would be able to damage Bob. While S'rilorien was under the water, it's attention focused on Bob, I used it's the diversion and it's absence to remove myself to a new position, closer to the water's edge, and hunkered down among larger boulders.

S'rilorien returned from below the water and continued searching for me, moving farther up the slope. Muttering quietly, and being fairly thorough. However, my position remained elusive, and it soon gave up, taking to the skies and winging toward the ruins off to the west. After a time, my companions returned, resurfaced, and I climbed shakily upon Bob. I sat myself down into the navigator's chair, began shivering and laughing uncontrollably, and called for wine – lots of wine. Bob sank beneath the waters; we went deep into the quiet darkness, and made course for the shores north of Cothon-Gadeed. I had surely been a fool to attempt discourse with S'rilorien. A total fool. But sometimes, fortune (and luck!) favors the bold – and the foolish.

 

Chronicles of Gan: Ch. 2 -- A Death Note!

 (written by Phil, player of Bartholomew Pettibone, who retains the services of former-waterbearer Gan ad-Din; this note relates to the recent expedition undertaken by the Survivors of the Tel, and earns Gan ad-Din 100 xp per level)

Some weeks ago, Gan ad-Din, Bearer of All Things, and fellow associate of the Survivors of the Tel, one Vlana the Bard, moved through the city of Cothon collecting bulk foodstuffs, wine, and other equipment bespeaking some kind of lengthy expedition or sea-voyage, all on behalf of the Survivors and bought with many dinars and letters of credit. And lo, Gan ddi tell his sweetheart Istrid, one of the dancing girls at the Kantor Kabljauhof, that his employer Bartholomew Pettibone and his company were indeed to set out on some kind of voyage!

Well, the weeks have passed; and now a figure, cloaked and hooded, makes its way to the Kantor. There, at the bar of the Gatehouse (the Kantor's public house), the figure doffed his hood, and the pale and strained face of Bartholomew was revealed. No frequenter of that bar, nevertheless he was known, having been drawn there an evening or two by Gan (eager then to show off his "girlfriend"'s charms).

After a hushed conversation, Istrid was summoned, and made her appearance at the bar. A note then was pressed into her hands by Bart, along with quiet assurances to soothe the distress that quickly passed over Istrid's face. Purchasing a round of wine for the twain, Bart proceeded to quietly tell Istrid a tale of high adventure--the stuff of legend, even!--and when he departed, though Istrid was still pallid with concern, she was at least somewhat assured.

The note she received she shared with her fellow dancing girls, and it quickly spread from there:

The Chronicles of Gan

Bearer of All Things!

Chapter 2 – A Death-Note To Istrid

Ah, my dearest Istrid. My light and my truest love. These passages may be the last words you will ever hear from me. Bartholomew and several of our erstwhile companions are furiously researching a cure for a cruel ailment that has befallen me. And beside the mysterious ailment, my left hand and arm are seriously burned and scarred, my left shoulder bones are wrenched and twisted, and several of my ribs are cracked or broken; all this is causing continued, intense pain. I fear that even with their most diligent and focused care, even if they can cure this wasting disease – even then – my arm may be damaged beyond repair, useless forever more. The disease is progressing fast – too fast – and I can see that Bartholomew is worried; his visage appears strained, and is even more distressed than mine. He, along with Ravna, continue to enervate me daily with a deluge of magical healing. But, even with their concerned ministrations, I cannot keep any food or liquids down. The constant vomiting, fever, and chills are wracking and weakening my entire body – and there is an ever-increasing, interminably frustrating rash creeping along the left side of my body.

As my death may be certain, I have entrusted a certain gem to Bartholomew. You have seen this gem my beloved, we have both marveled at it's brilliance and unsurpassed beauty. It is the brightest, most perfect, most clear ruby ever to have graced this world. I have entrusted it to my benefactor to deliver to you, should I perish. Even as I am Gan, the Bearer of All Things, this gem bears the one thing that may be slipping through my grasp – the love I bear for you, dearest Istrid. Bartholomew has promised that he will have the gem set into a fine silver pendant, forming exquisite jewelry more beautiful than that which might adorn even the highest born of the High Ladies of Cothon-Gadeed. This jewel is to be draped lovingly, and for all time, around your graceful neck. It will symbolize the love that we have borne for each other for so long.

But how did this happen? What can I tell you that will ease the anguish you might feel because of my death? It is a bold, and glorious story – one worthy of song, story, and drink! It is a tale of adventure and heroics that few (even in legends of old) can claim to have ever equaled! It might even make Durham quake in his boots! Hahahaha!

It began over a week ago, when Bartholomew asked if I would assist the Survivors of the Tel in gathering equipment and supplies for a long ocean voyage. This voyage was to be of a secretive nature, but I feel that upon my death, you should know the whole of it. But please, my dear, hold all of this in the strictest confidence. With gear and additional mates gathered, we boarded our vessel – Bob (as Bartholomew calls her) – and traveled for several days toward the northwest, toward the Denyali Islands. We were in search of a type of crystal that potentially holds fantastical, mythical powers. All who shipped out with us seem to have a keen interest and desire to possess these crystals. And Bob (through some form of arcana) was able to inform us that those crystals could be found in that island chain. Yes, my love, Bob has a voice, an ethereal, disembodied voice, and can actually speak and converse as clearly as you and I – it is a wonder to behold!

Our company consisted of myself, Bartholomew Pettibone, Raoden (who is somewhat scatter-brained), quiet Ravna, dark and brooding Avin, Vlana (an educated musician), Razo, and our good friend Hey-Jo. Unfortunately, the confines and odd movement of Bob caused Hey-Jo much discomfort, and he became ill and unable to function for a good part of our initial travels.

Upon attaining our landfall, we made an initial scouting foray around its coast, laying low aboard Bob, while circumscribing the island. I will be brief in this description – a large settlement lays on the northwest (replete with fine ocean-going Denyali canoes and galleys), several high points can be seen all about (one smoking as if on fire!), ruins dot the western slope of the highest peak in the south, numerous steep rocky headlands abound (where large, fierce looking reptilian flyers thrive), dense thickets of forests are in some locales, rolling scrub-hills are all about, and what appeared to be a fishing village was splashed near the southwest base of the main peak. Close to that village we noted a separate enclave that we found housed a large group of sickly, diseased people – who were kept apart from all others, but treated with deference by the locals. I fear that our interaction with them may have led to my contracting this disease – but Bartholomew says it could not be so. He claims that their 'disease' is of a similar nature, but that it is not able to be passed from one to another. I have my doubts, but even Ravna and Hey-Jo assure me that he speaks the truth. And oddly, Bob agrees with them. As well, we were all in the enclave, potentially exposed, and attended by a large number of the inhabitants, yet only I have been afflicted with this disease.

During our initial walk-about on the island, we aimed for the tallest peak, and that is where we located the ruins, high on its western slope. A massive stone tower loomed over the ruins, appearing to be in slightly better condition, but which had no obvious entrance. Bartholomew and I discerned a cave-in among one of the ruined buildings near its base that revealed a passage. My companions believed that this might be a way to secretly enter the tower, and to hopefully attain the sought-after crystals that we believe lay within. And so we entered. Bartholomew can relay to you the particulars of that first journey of discovery. In the end, deep in the bowels of that place, we encountered a strange, large, floating 'shield' that appeared to have a mind of its own. My fellows had ample reason to believe that it might be a guardian, which, if approached, would likely attack us with an intense ferocity. And so we departed, returned to seek Bob's advice, and plotted a new course of action.

Prior to our return to the ruins the next day, we quietly, and under the cover of early dawn light, crept into the 'diseased' enclave. We intended to enter into a secret parlay with the diseased ones, in hopes of learning something about the ruins, the beasts within, and how and where the crystals could be found. These people were in varying degrees or stages of their illness – their hair was generally brittle and mousy, falling out in large patches; they displayed rashes and painful boils all about their bodies; vomiting was as common as breathing; and some were in no shape to walk (or even crawl) – they lay in their own waste on crude pallets. Only a few appeared well enough to help take care of the others. Bartholomew maintained that these people had been exposed to the powerful crystals for too long, without protection, and their lengthy exposure had infected their entire bodies with a wasting disease. Their minds seem also to have been affected, and many were mad and lost within their disease. Several were singularly delusional, referring to themselves as the 'Holy Anointed Ones'. I remain skeptical; clearly their gods had forsaken them, and their minds were wasting away within their skulls. But Bartholomew was adamant, claiming that, from discussions with Bob, this was not a transmissible disease among people – only the crystals could induce the disease.

We soon left the enclave as many of the inhabitants were becoming agitated, and uncomfortably noisy, due to our presence. Many claimed to have been stolen from their homelands, and they fervently wished to return to their loved ones. They begged and pleaded with us to give them succor! And I, my dearest Istrid, can certainly understand that desire! But our vessel has not the capacity to carry so many. We left them with only a little hope that we might return and be able to save them. However, we made it clear that our primary purpose was to obtain many of the power crystals, to secret them aboard our vessel, and that we were not on friendly terms with their captors. If we failed in our mission, nobody would likely leave this island alive.

As dawn broke, we made our way into the ruins, and located the hidden tunnels. As we entered, as all the gods are my witness, Istrid – Bartholomew and I both glanced up at the tower and beheld a giant, winged serpent climbing the outer wall of the massive tower! It was on the opposite side of the tower from us, and must have been moving to the top to warm itself in the early morning sunlight. It was AWESOME to behold! Raoden believed it to be a sro – one of the mighty dragons of legend that have long been relegated to myth, and almost erased from memory. We ushered ourselves quickly into the underground tunnels, hoping that the sro had not noticed us. Luckily, that seemed to be the case.

Within, as we began a more detailed search of the maze, we encountered a small group of sakkra, apparently positioned as guards. They began hissing at us in their strange language, and Bartholomew boldly stepped forward and brayed something at them in some guttural, unintelligible language. It was at this moment, my love, that I realized I was the only one of our squad of seven (Vlana had been left aboard Bob as a guard) who had any martial training of any kind. I was no longer Gan, the Bearer of All Things, so much as I was now Gan, the Protector of All Knowledge! The scene was almost amusing, had it not been so dangerous. It was as if I – a former beggar and lamp-bearer – was the only protection a small band of giddy, high-minded. ill-equipped scholars had in this most dangerous complex of ruins and tunnels. Would I, my dearest, be able to protect all of these educated fools?!

Needless to say, the sakkra scoffed at us, and we entered into a scuffle. One attempted to depart (likely to inform others of our intrusion), Bartholomew fired a quarrel from his cross-bow, and all hell broke loose! His quarrel skittered away, helter skelter, useless (as usual). Luckily, the blows that the sakkra tried to deliver were just as haphazard and ineffective. Hey-Jo calmly weaved an incantation within the arcane realm and dropped the entire lot of them into a deep slumber. As fast as it had begun, the tussle was over. Three of the four sakkra were dispatched, but the last was brought under a mind-controlling enthrallment by Raoden, and questioned. We gained little information, and Avin ended up sending that poor creature to its singular heaven or hell. Take note, my love, that Avin is an odd woman – not to be fully trusted. There is something dark within her, and she seems to have no compassion, no sympathy – only an empty coldness. I digress. It was curious to note that the sakkra guard seemed to think of Raoden as one of its masters calling him 'Ergah', and it was frightened into witless blubbering and hissing, afraid that Raoden might subject it to the 'agonizer'!

Sometimes I wonder that I keep company with these scholars. They seem intent on searching out and learning about the most deadly legends and myths of our history – and playing with them as if they are mere baubles and toys! They can also be cruelly heartless. But it is interesting and lucrative, if not potentially deadly, employment.

We made our way to the second level down, and my companions crossed quietly over a bridge, hoping to learn what lay inside a certain room. I remained behind, still and quiet, hidden on the far side of the bridge, as the large, shield-shaped, floating guardian made its rounds on the level below. It was the same disc that we had escaped from on the previous day. It was purposefully roaming the floor below, which was openly visible under the bridge, and we were afraid that my movements might alert it to our presence – since I lumber and clank about in a splendid suit of metallic armor. When the way appeared clear, Bartholomew signaled for me to come across. Oddly, a few of his companions seemed to be signaling for me to remain. In this confusion, I decided to trust in Bartholomew's judgment, and began to roll stealthily across the bridge. I intended to remain low and quiet, so I rolled, head over heels, somersaulting. But this, dearest Istrid, was to be my folly.

Suddenly everyone went absolutely silent, all their eyes upon me, large and shocked. This only made clearer the piercing, increasingly loud whine of the disc, floating up behind me. I turned and spied the disc nearby, floating effortlessly in the air, on the level with the bridge. The central raised hub at its center was glowing bright red, and flashing menacingly. My mind whirled, and I was certain that if the floating shield unleashed the force it contained within (which had been described to us by the sakkra guard), my companions would have no recourse but to die in terrible agony. And so I did what will likely live forever in the annals of heroics!

In a flash of inspiration, I drew the Red Sword of Aslan, and hurled myself off of the bridge, onto the disc! My grip was tenuous, and as it whirled around it unleashed an intensely bright beam of focused sunlight from the embossed nub at its center – searing and burning my body and causing the most excruciating pain. Fortunately, at the same moment, Bartholomew was able to wrap his particular arcana around me in such a way as to afford me protection from a good portion of that beasts hellish flame-burst – otherwise, I fear I would have died right then! The wobbling disc, and the pain, worked together to thwart my aim, and my blow fell foul, only glancing off the upper chassis of the disc. Several of my companions let loose with bolts, sling-stones, and arrows, but with little effect. However, Ravna produced a small device that emitted its own energy bolt, which melted a hellish hole clean through the disc at one spot. Seeing the hole, I thrust my left hand into it, grabbing wiry, sparking tendrils, in order to secure a tight grip. It was still glowing with an intense heat, and the surrounding metallic material bubbled and smoked – it burned, Istrid, almost as hot as my love for you! But I held fast, and with all my might I brought the pommel of my blade hard down upon the central 'head' of the thing – where the sunbeam had issued forth – and cracked it all about!

The battle raged, and I continued holding on with a death grip as the disc whirled and bucked, attempting to dislodge me, all the while discharging several more sun-bursts. However, the cracked 'head' seemed to spread and weaken the beam. But while its power waned, it still caused intense damage – to me, and me alone. I was keeping my promise to Bartholomew, and I was bearing all of the pain and damage for my comrades – I pray you would be proud of me, my love! In short order, I felt that all was lost, and the Red Sword of Aslan fell from my weakened grasp. It appeared to me that it fell in slow motion, spinning and glittering, and as the sword dropped and clattered on the floor below, I barely had the strength and mindfulness to retrieve an elixir of healing. I quaffed it, and as I did, I saw Avin skewer the disc with a final spear-thrust.

As the healing liquid coursed down my throat, the disc exploded in a brilliant fireball! For me, everything went black – and there was no more pain, only silence and a curious numbness all over my body. I was told afterward that the explosion hurled me down, into and across the room beneath, skittering with limbs all akimbo, bouncing across the lower floor – like a rag-doll being cruelly tossed to the ground and kicked by an angry child. Bartholomew, Avin, and Ravna ran to my broken body, and seeing that I was still breathing, but fearing the worst, they ministered healing magics to my wounds. As I regained consciousness, and the numbness turned into excruciating pain, it was obvious that I was quite near death – in fact it may have been that I was unceremoniously ripped from death's cold, unyielding grip! My friends shouldered and carried my limp body quickly out of the ruins. We paused briefly as we exited, expecting the sro to spy us and descend. But we maintained secrecy, and were able to return to Bob with no further trouble.

After we settled back aboard Bob, and sank beneath the water's surface to safety, my illness showed forth. It is as I have described it in the beginning – vomiting, a horrible queasiness, my muscles weakening, labored breathing, etc. Bartholomew and the company are certain it is the same sickness the infirm have in the enclave. They believe that being burned by the disc's eye, and being wholly exposed to it's explosive demise, I was covered in the disease-imparting motes of the power crystals. I lay here, weak as a newborn, in the dim light and quiet peacefulness of Bob; it is likely I may not survive many more days. So I have asked Bartholomew to pen these words to you – dictated by me – and to promise to deliver this ruby gem (a semblance of my heart and love) to you, should I not survive. If this is to be farewell, Istrid, my truest love, know that you have exposed my life to the utmost joy that any lamp-bearer could ever hope to be illuminated with!

Yours in love and light – Gan, Protector of All Knowledge, Bearer of All Pain and All Things!

The Curious Case of Mr. Torkol ...

(... and Mr. Hyde??)

"Torkol locked up in the Kantor Kabljauhof?? Mad Matho says it ... he is mad, after all ..."

Among other happenings, news, and the constant circulation of rumors--the application for citizenship by one Sesel, Voice of the Survivors, for instance, or the departure of most of the rest of the Survivors of the Tel on some secret ocean voyage--among all the talk in the taverns of goings-on in Cothon, greatest of harbors, perhaps none is so curious as the stories circulating about yet another Survivor--one Torkol, interpreter for Klackons, and constant liaison between his own barbarian company and the noble family of the Bani al Rashid.

Mad Matho (foresworn from adventuring after an incident in the Necropolis that melted his right arm and left him fit only to beg enough coin for his beer) swears that Torkol has been locked up in the Kantor Kabljauhof, by the great adventurer Durham, who owns the Ringing Anvil. As Matho tells it, he was in the Fischmarkt of the Kantor, begging of the well-to-do servants, when he saw Durham leading a small procession of his own servants with a long crate in tow.

From that crate came muffled knocking, as if someone were inside--and Matho swears that he heard Torkol's voice from inside, begging to be freed! How does he know it was Torkol? Well, Matho sometimes frequents the tavern Cothon-Under-Star, where Torkol would be regularly seen chatting with his friends there, the barkeeps Althalos and Tki'it.

And stranger yet--there also came the voice of a young woman from inside the crate, claiming that Durham was kidnapping her! And that she came of a good family, too!

Matho swears that Durham must have been courting the girl, and caught the twain in delicto, and hatched up a scheme somehow to trick them into sleeping together in the crate, which he then locked them into, and delivered to the Kantor--for secret revenge!

Odd as all this sounds, the broad facts are at least corroborated by other witnesses at the Fischmarkt from that day. Many heard knocking from inside the crate, and many others agree that the voice of a girl cried out for help, that Durham was kidnapping her. No Bani or House has come forward to accuse anyone, or report any kidnapping (other than Khadisha, but she's long been held captive by the Luwian Pirates, some months hence)--but that doesn't mean there aren't any secret bounties, or assassins' writs, to rectify such a situation in the shadows and without the Bani losing honor ...

It can be further corroborated that Torkol did indeed visit the Ringing Anvil, as the servants of certain clients--either collecting their commissions that day, or putting in for a new suit of mail, or what have you--when sought out for information over wine, indeed tell that Torkol came in rather furtively, looking to speak to Durham, and was led into the back rooms.

No one can say that they have ever seen Durham court a woman in the city, however, other than Vituria, one of the dancing girls at the Kantor, whose massages Durham often speaks highly of, especially after a tough scrape in the underworld. And Vituria is known to be dancing at the Kantor this very night, not locked away in any crate, or back-room prison cell!

It is also true that Sesel has been seen visiting the Kantor more than his usual wont of late, looking rather more pale and severe than usual--but surely the demands of one seeking citizenship would weigh on a fellow somewhat?

Anyway, whatever the case of the matter really is--Torkol has really and truly disappeared from his usual haunts. Althalos and Tki'it at Cothon-Under-Star are noticeably worried about their friend, and often ask those coming through the tavern if they have any word of his whereabouts or fate ...

Citizen Sesel

 After the flurry of activity at the Ringing Anvil and the rumors that flew about as the tower of the windmill was raised, there was only a short lull before a new curiosity caught the attention of the myriad tongues that wag and wander incessantly through the harbor of Cothon--the rumor that Sesel, Voice of the Survivors, was seeking citizenship of Gadeed, Mother of Cities! Sponsored by no lessers than the great tribe Banu al Rashid!

Much has been supposed in the last few months, as word of Zaida al Rashid's accompaniment of the expeditions into the Attine Spire wended through the city, but all was confirmed this week as Sesel was called before the magistrates of the Court of the Mount in Gadeed herself. Entering into Court with his sponsor, Khaled "the Stammerer" al Rashid (incidentally, the rhetor who argued on behalf of the Survivors of the Tel in their case v. the Barcidae), Sesel stood before the magistrates and gave answer to the questioned formulate of the magistrates of the City:

1. What wealth do you claim? (the better to establish your class as Citizen)
2. Do you make any claims to rights or pedigrees according to your ancestors? (i.e. now is the time to declare and argue for any presumption on your part of nobility)
3. What is your profession? (again to establish class; "man-at-arms" being an acceptable "noble" profession)
4. Do you swear loyalty to Gadeed, to Cothon, and to the Souffets? To keep arms and/or to provide for the arms of your servants or slaves, all in greater service to the Mother of Cities and the Ten Cities' League? (this last being especially emphasized, given the recent lawlessness and rioting)

Though his answers are, of course, his to know, and the magistrates' to keep, nevertheless he was afforded this certificate of Citizenry (and the particulars of his class will be worked out according to his answers and to his situation as-sponsored by the Bani al Rashid):

Written in an older liturgical version of the current tongue, this document certifies that Sesel is indeed a citizen, on this day, [30 July]. The red wax overlaying name and date do somewhat to make the reading difficult in this format, but they are written out as per the formulae. From this date, Sesel is a citizen of Gadeed, granted full rights to the City and her Courts, and to marriage with her other citizens ... and there is rumor that just such a marriage may in fact be in the works?!

For there is a great deal of activity in the household of the al Rashids bespeaking a great feast, of many hmela bought to be sacrificed, and dancers and musicians sought after and paid, and many amphorae of wine. So wagging tongues have yet a little more to talk about before the next curiosity, which is a rumor that the Souffets will soon upend and replace the current tax-farming procedures.

A Broader Map

 ... of the Balad 'Round Cothon

(created by Jacob based on a pencil sketch by me--worthy, according to the scribes, of 50 xp per level to one character; one may notice that the iqta' al Zaytun, recent battlefield between Kzin-raider the Red Cloud and the human defenders, is not on this map, but is located a fair way south and east)

Presenting more a sense of the country (balad) around the harbor-half of the Dual-Cities, great Cothon--and stretching north enough to show the first few of the long northwest-strung chain of the Denyan Islands--this map may not be properly to scale, and yet it gives proper place to various locales north and around the Cities.

Composed mainly by the sailor-cartographer Bassil, but with the assistance of the land-walking adventurer Sesel (one Voice of the Survivors), it was perhaps meant for sale by the map-maker--and yet, an overlong session of collaboration over wine allowed sharp-eyed patrons Under-Star to make their own versions, thence easily made available to the public at large. Those in the city are well enough aware of the general features, of course, but more than a few barbarians, new-come to Cothon, may indeed benefit from the orientation provided by this map should they venture beyond the confines of Cothon and the Tel al Safina.

Certain locales' legends are difficult to read in the medium of these chronicles; therefore, the scribes supply a brief periplus, or "sailing 'round", starting from the harbor of Cothon:

Sailing west along the coast from the Cothon, the first great river mouth and its broad estuary is known as the Roads. If a storm should blow up suddenly, or if the winds should deaden, and a ship need wait in hospitable waters until a good wind blows, the broad waters of the Roads are where she waits.

The Roads of course, are only a part of the broader Gana Delta, the mouths of the Garden River that flow multiply into Dirac's Sea. Sailing west from the Roads, one will pass the many mouths of the Delta, like the infinitely dividing necks and heads of the great qaqtla upon which the demigod Bism reclined after his labors. The banks and islands of the Delta are thick with rich farms, and with deposits of sand and clay that the Lightermen carry on their barges to the kilns of the Brickmakers and Glassblowers. It is along this delta that the iqta' of Tolwan lies, disturbed by the presence of armored ghars, which Lars Fang-Ripper wishes to hunt in a kind of vision-quest.

A great headland rises west of the Delta, its high cliffs battered by the sea's waves, while on the landward side a road winds its serpentine way up the inland slopes. Alkari tribes dwell in caves overlooking the waters, said to worship sro and to find it taboo to set foot upon the deck of a ship, according to strange ancient religion.

As the headland falls away west and north, the walls of Ittiyqa rise on the coastal plain, the Sister-City of Cothon. She has no seaward harbor, but a great canal, cut through the earth and set with huge locks, connects sea to the freshwater lake. The great fortress al Tsakhrata stands in the midst of this lake upon an island-rock. The city's hinterlands fill the plains west and south.

North of Ittiyqa, Tel Akhar, the Other Mount, rises out of the sea. A great tower overlooks a natural harbor on its western shore, in which many a galley, sryganta, holc, and birling lay wait the changing of the office of the winds, or bringing on water from the pure stream beneath the tower. Though the Denyali islanders rarely make their way so far from their islands, still one may find haunted stone nuraghes such as dot their island homes. Furthermore, it is said that a coven of witches and sorceresses--possibly maeras, but most usually described in story as shape-changing kdaptists--make their lair in the mist-cloaked woods of the island, spinning weird dooms, singing sailors to their fates, and of course guarding a treasure worthy of any king.

If, rather than sailing west to Nous or other cities of the Ten Cities League, one chose to sail north and east, the lookout at the prow would call out at sight of the Denyan Islands. Just north of this map lies the Denyan Strait, through which flows most sea-traffic between Cothon and the eastern Cities and the Nomehs of Misr. It was there that the Denyan Akho was slain by certain heroes; and it is east and north of here that most of the Hanse's campaign against the Luwian Pirates is being prosecuted. The islands are inhabited by the dark-skinned Denyali, whose ancestors built (or at least venerated) the ancient stone structures found throughout the islands and known as nuraghes, most of which are purported to be both haunted, and filled with fabulous treasures.

Following the island chain back south and east, one sails up to the Horn, along the southern coast of which is a fine beach for anchoring and resting the arms of the oarsmen. South along the coast not far from there, the long valley of al Aghadrein, the "Two Towers", cuts into the headland, filled with fine farmland and overlooked by its eponymous castles. A rash of attacks by Sakkra have recently broken out against the people there, and the Souffets are offering a bounty of 50 gold dinars per head of any Sakkra killed in defense of al Aghadrein.

Continuing south and west back toward Cothon, to complete the circle of the periplus, one would pass a number of sea-caves, some cut into the walls well above the waves, others cut out by the waves themselves. Those further north (and further up the cliff walls) are inhabited by the Gao tribe of Alkari, who gather chiefly around their fortress-monastery Kir Tsabbal, carved into the rock of the cliff-face itself. They too are under attack by Sakkra raiders. Inland from there rise a number of lesser Klackon spires overlooked by the great Attine-Spire, as well as various old human-ruins; and farther southwest along the headland, sea-level caves cut deep into the headland--the so-called Ocean's Throat.

From there, one sails south, past the Migdol of the Dyers and Fish-Fermenters, and then west to arrive again in the great harbor of Cothon ...

Another Wargame: The Red Cloud Dawn

(I spent my day working on an art-project/rules-pastiche of a wargame)

The Red Cloud has attacked the south-eastern iqta' al-Zaytun!

Though the dreaded Kzin Hero's raids have been consistently bloody and destructive, this most recent attack against al-Zaytun mustered enough Kzinti and auxiliaries to meet the defenders of the iqta' in open battle, wtsai-to-spear. Entire zayt-orchards burned, acrid smoke smearing the sky even as the blood of men stained the soil, and the Kzinti advanced even against the Tower Qutnai.

Rumors of the depredations of the Red Cloud, a Kzinti Hero of Prophecy waging a renewed war against mankind in the southern iqtas and baldan of Gadeed, have been filtering up to the Dual-Cities for months. His band of Heroes have flouted the old Peace agreed after the last Man-Kzin War; instead of peacefully driving their sthondat and bazhianya herds, hunting vatach and foraging for zheerekti, they have embarked on quite a different ship of destiny--a violent destiny, attempting to realize the prophecy of the Red Cloud's return in an orgy of blood.

Named for the red celestial phenomenon that appears in the sky every other solar cycle--the first appearance of which this cycle was sighted again on the very night of his First Naming--the eponymous Hero took up the Name, redded his sword in the blood of a captive human warrior, and swore that Cothon-Gadeed would at last fall to the Kzinti and the Aegis of the Demon-Queen, ushering in a new age of redolence under himself as the Patriarch-Restored.

Or so say those traders who had traffic with the Kzinti before the outbreak of violence. To those who know their history, this is surely just another outbreak of banditry by the nomadic Kzinti, to be put down in due time by combined might of the Ten Cities League. Since the last peace, every lunar decade or so, some Hero proclaims himself the new Patriarch, sworn to overthrow the human empire, and to reunite Kzin and Mrrshan; but the learnéd know that the Mrrshan will never accept another Patriarch, and even the unlettered masses know that Dalinar al Khalid, victor already in two such Man-Kzin bandit-wars, will surely defy the Souffets' recall and muster troops to crush these insolent Kzinti once again.

And yet ... for those whose history goes deeper, there is always that fear: that this time, some spark will truly light in the spirits of the Kzinti; that the warrior-bands, divided by their petty honor-duels and envies, will actually believe in the Prophecy of this Hero, and follow him to glory; that the decadence of the Decapolis and the jealousies of the Souffets, and all the divisions of modern man, will conspire together to see to it that the hegemony of humankind falters and fails again ...

Ignore the planes--the only playing cards I had were my old "WWII Spotter Cards"

It will take a strong arm and a prudent eye to see Cothon-Gadeed through to victory in this new Red Cloud's War.

(the rules are half-written/composed, and I hope I can cajole one you players out there to play through with me; and with more scenarios as I get ahold of more maps I don't have to draw)

The Will of Najm ibn Marwan

(written by me, concerning my character Najm's most recent adventure in the Undercity of Cothon--run by Jacob--for 100 xp per level)

I give thanks to the Saints and Heroes, that they have watched over me ever since my arrival in Cothon, Mother of Ports. Though my uncle counseled me against this tack--against leaving our family in al Agadrein, to attempt to make my way in Cothon (and perhaps, one day--Gadeed herself!)--yet here I am, suddenly wealthier than my father or uncles, a thousand times over!

How many years have they dreamed of owning a fishing-felucca, its hull sewn tight by the great shipwrights of the Cothon? And I have just commissioned such a ship, and spent only a part of my new-won riches.

By the grace of the Saints, my hopes have come to fruition--hearing of the great riches uncovered in the ancient Tel by barbarian adventurers, I knew that I could follow their example, if only I were free to do so. And though indeed I have not set foot within the Tel, yet I have found a quite different avenue of adventure in al Medina al Taht (the "Undercity" of Cothon).

Most recently, eager to test my mettle once again, I fell in with a fellow by name of Althis, and told him of the riches to be won below the city. Interested in my proposal, we agreed to hire a couple extra sword-arms--the Kzin Hero Riit Rakir on his part, and al Rabb the free renyu on mine--and then descend into the strange underworld.

Curious encounters followed, straight out of the romances. We encountered the self-styled princess of an ancient and forgotten tribe of Gadeed, surrounding herself with a rabble of rough men until her time comes to reveal herself and her lineage. We shared wine in her secret underground hall, and Althis revealed himself "Lord Althis of the Crag Keep"--and I didn't even know I was already in the presence of real nobility! I admit, the tete-a-tete of such court niceties are beyond me, and my mind was on the wine, but I think Lord Althis took something of a shining to this Lady Faraat.

Professing much friendship to the Lady, we then set out seeking her enemies elsewhere in the underworld of the city. Another rabble of men--bandits, no doubt! which apparently Lord Althis has had much to do with others of their ilk--who maintain their own encampment within these undercrofts. With the clever use of a charm I know to speak with lesser beasts, we secured the aid of a sekeker in showing us where these bandits kept their wealth, and then with a fine bit of foolery on our part (wearing the bandits' insignia), and a distraction by Rakir, then Althis, Rabbiy, and I were able to make off with quite a haul of secreted treasure.

Some portion of that has gone into the felucca I commissioned--the Saint Iksameen--while the bulk of my share of this new-won wealth I am storing at the great tavern Cothon-Under-Star, under the protection of the Survivors of the Tel. And a good thing, too!

Just after the recent riots following the Procession of Locor, I returned to my quarters in a lesser tavern to find the place torn apart and ransacked, and a note left to return some part of the treasure, or else I would look worse than my quartesr!

All of this being an introduction to the will I am leaving with the Survivors, as I am thus reminded that luck and the grace of the Saints can all be taken away as if by the roll of the dice, and so I had best see to the securing of my demise in case the worst should happen.

So, I, Najm ibn Marwan al Agadreini, do thus set forth this will as to the division of my material possessions should I be slain or incapacitated. This will is binding until changed by me, or made void should I have natural issue by wife or concubine.

1. 1000 dinars are set aside for my father, Marwan al Agadreini, or my brother Marwan ibn Marwan after that
2. 1000 dinars are likewise set aside for the Survivors, as executors of this will
3. a tenth of my remaining wealth-in-cash goes to the Decapolis treasury, may the Saints look out for the Souffets
4. a fifth of my remaining wealth-in-cash goes to the Confraternity of 'Issa the Baptist for charitable works
5. the ship Saint Iskameen, my possessions, and the remainder of my cash I leave to my cousin, whose adventurous heart I know yearns to do as I have done, and who will use these things in pursuit of romance, rather than staid drudgery

Signed this day, يوليو ٢٠
نجم بن مرؤان الاحادريني

From Bartholomew's Journals: Cleansing and Learning

 (written by Phil, player of Bartholomew, concerning the recent successes in the Spire of the Attine Klackons, and earning Bart 100 xp per level)

From the Journals of Bartholomew Pettibone, of the House Pettibone

A Purveyor of Enchanting Sorcery

25 June 2021 – Cleansing and Learning

Much time has passed, dear readers, since my previous journal entry. And with that passage of time new adventures, and significant learning, has occurred. Some I will relate here, but briefly, while other tidbits I may only hint at.

Developing an understanding of the new vessel that we have acquired has stolen most of my time – but stolen is the wrong word. This vessel is wondrous beyond imagination, and it has opened my mind to new avenues of power, literal power – not the mere machinations of politics and social/economic constructs – but energy, and how it may be used. For good or ill. This vessel, and several instruments that my compatriots use, appear to be fueled and maintained by a form of energy that is at once different from the arcana that I manipulate – yet wonderfully compatible! It is as though two parallel sources/methods of energy are laid before me, yet if enough steps are taken back, and the eyes and mind are opened, we can see that the seemingly mundane 'technical' energy of this vessel (and various adventuring instruments) and the energy consumed through my manipulations of the 'arcana' actually converge, and are but two different ways of harnessing the same, deeper, fluid energies of the universe. This is exciting, and worthy of more intense research.

Along with this new understanding of energy/power, I have become quite familiar with the strange 'logbooks' that this vessel contains. Information is stored in a manner that I have yet to fully understand, but it is easily obtainable, and volumes – massive libraries, in fact – appear to be stored in such a way that they take up little to no space, are readily conjured for perusal, and are unimaginably cross-referenced and thorough! The best way to describe this storage and retrieval of information is by likening it to an oracle that maintains no authority and no allegiance to any god or gods – or any living beings. The information appears to be free for the asking and unbiased, as long as the researcher seeks the information and posits queries in a reasonable manner. This 'oracle', which I have named 'Bob' (even though it speaks with the voice of a woman – yes, it speaks) is pleasant to chat with and if it has no concept of the knowledge being sought, says so clearly and without malice.

Bob has taught me much about the operation and maintenance of this vessel. And Bob has taught me about the source of energy that provides power to the vessel. Through Bob's instruction, and information gleaned from other adventurers (especially Sesel, Durham, and Avin), and my own excursions, I believe that I may know of a source to replenish that energy – when it might run low. However, more research is needed before I can definitively claim success in this understanding. Also, I fear that the source material for this energy is being used by a dangerous entity for its own natural benefit. However, while this entity is certainly protective of its life (as all living beings are) it does not appear to be inherently 'evil', hostile, or manipulative – it is simply existing, and this source material provides energy for its growth, reproduction, and protection. More on this later.

Recently, my companions from the Survivors pulled me from my studies with Bob, and asked if I might help complete our quest from the Klackon 5^th House. It was with no little reluctance that I accepted, and so Gan and I joined them in attempting to fully cleanse the 6^th House of its parasitic infestation.

Our group was composed of myself, Gan, our good friend Durham and his faithful Renyu companion, Pako, Sesel, Raoden, Avin, and Ravna. Two members of the House al Rashid also accompanied us (Zaida and her liege-man). Ten of us, altogether returned to the spire of the Klackons and gained entrance into the sealed 6^th House.

Deep in the hidden basement labs of this infernal House we located what appeared to be a recent excavation into the surrounding earth, digging under a vein that seemed to be made of the highly sought-after metal, zortrium. And near this excavation we encountered a dark-carapaced Klackon (one Killick, the Warrior), who claimed she had been left behind to safeguard this excavation, and to prepare for the return of their people. It was gleaned that a means of 'teleportation' had been used to secret members of the 6^th House to safety, somewhere – Killick would not exactly say. It was also learned that the infestation that plagued the 6^th House likely came from that same, secret location.

With Killick's unwitting assistance (and liberal sharing of wine on our part) we were able to learn something about this means of teleportation. However, we were determined to not allow Killick to retrieve their compatriots at the moment. We explained how the other Klackon Houses wished them all eradicated, and that if she would allow us to act as intermediaries on behalf of the 6^th House, it might be possible to bring the 6^th House back in its full glory, and repatriate them with the other Houses. Killick agreed, and assured us that she would wait for our return before attempting to bring their 6^th House members back from wherever it was they had been secreted. Unfortunately, it is my considered opinion that they are lost. If they were indeed awaiting return from the place where this parasitic infestation originated, then they are most certainly infected.

We also learned that Killick had somehow been 'mining' raw zortrium from what appeared to be a very substantial 'vein' of the source material. It was obvious that the scattered tools Killick possessed would be useless for this activity. However, she had one strange, hand-held item, that she waved at us menacingly, that I believe may have been used for 'melting' the zortrium away from its matrix. I suspect that her item might emit a tremendous, focused energy that, if it could be used to carve zortrium, would certainly (and irrevocably) destroy living creatures.

We left Killick in a semi drunken stupor, with the promise to not retrieve her compatriots, and continued our inspection and cleansing of the 6^th House.

With fire (much, much fire), and skillfully placed arrows and crossbow bolts, we were able to eliminate all of the parasitically infected Klackons (and several other beasts) still remaining within the sealed environs of the 6^th House. When I say much fire – I mean a significant conflagration, brought about by burning several gallons of lantern fuel oil. The stench of burning carapaces and beetle innards was enough to bring on violent stomach heaves to those with lesser constitutions. And if the flames had not been fully controlled, it was conceivable that we may have burned down the entire Klackon spire system – us included.

The bravery, and skill in combat, that my fellow Survivors exhibited during our clashes was grand to witness! Considering that some were burned by acid, and others violently hacked and chopped, it is amazing that our morale was not broken. In the end, it seemed that we had dispatched at least a full company of infected Klackons, and numerous other 'bugs'. Those bugs, while not particularly damaging, had the ability to paralyze those who they nipped at. And while paralyzed, they would then feast on the innards of those hapless victims. After feasting on their human soft parts, the bodies appeared to be used as incubation cocoons. I shudder to think of all of the 6^th House human slaves who had succumbed to such a horrible fate.

In the end, we faced an egg-laying Klackon 'princess' and a pale-carapaced male mate. Neither appeared to be infected, and both were being held against their will. The princess begged to be set free, and returned to her 'Norr' family. She begged and pleaded for us to reunite her with her 'cousins', so that they could continue their advancement of Klackon rule. The pale-carapaced male also yearned for freedom, but claimed that freedom could only come if both he and the princess were killed. He claimed treachery by her and her cousins, and yearned for the freedom of a clean death.

Sesel gathered most of our group together for counsel, in order to decide what to make of this situation, and how to proceed. Apparently, Sesel had had a recent encounter with this princesses' cousins, and was inclined to bargain with her – there seemed to be a situation with a hostage, one Dr. Sontag. However, I grew weary of these games, strode quietly and confidently up to the encumbered princess, drew my gleaming, silvered, poisoned dagger, and plunged it into her swollen body over and over and over again until no life remained. My comrades watched in stark, shocked silence as I then moved to the shackled male and decapitated him. I turned to my colleagues and calmly said, “She wished to be set free to join her cousins – and I have done just that, as her cousins are all dead. And her forced mate yearned for a cleansing, honorable death. Thus I granted them exactly what they wished for, and our predicament is solved”. I fear, Dr. Sontag may be lost, but bargaining with these beasts is folly.

We returned to the 5^th House and claimed victory. Durham offered a great oration on our adventure and success, and a great revel was presented for us. During this revel, Gan and I had much discussion with the Klackon envoy, Zax-Atchet (forgive me if I spell his name wrong), and several other Klackon warriors and alchemists. I believe that Gan's fighting actions and bravery during this adventure proved interesting to several Klackon warriors, and it appears that one decided to take him on as a 'trainable' paisan. Perhaps Gan will learn new fighting techniques, and how to handle new weapons, in a formidable way (much like our dearly departed friend Ix did). For my part, and I believe this to be an amusing joke among Zax-Atchet and some others of their stature, I was gifted a 'potion' that they claimed, if I were to inhale it, would make me seem to any and all as if I were one of the walking dead. They claimed that all semblance of life would be masked, and I would be able to walk among the undead as if I were one of them. Interesting. I accepted the gift graciously, as I believe I have just the use for it!

After the revel was completed, we gathered our vast rewards, and returned toward Cothon-Under-Star. As for myself, I returned to our vessel and Bob, to continue my education, and to prepare for our return to the 6^th House basement excavations, and Killick.

Call for Companions! -- Quest for the Ghar

(written by Joel, on behalf of his character Lars Fangripper, seeking companions on a quest detailed below)

The Hunt for the River Monsters:

Lars Fang-Ripper has been on many adventures since his arrival in the twin city of Cothan-Gadeed and he has grown much in a short time. He can often be seen at his camp outside the city in spiritual meditation. When Lars meditates he ascends to the spiritual plane, where he communes with his ancestors who have won the honor of being laid to rest in the great longhouse. Lars has been laid low a few times in battle so he asks his ancestor to help train him to be tougher, so he does not fall so easily in battle. His spiritual guardians agreed to this but they also showed him more. From one ancestor Lars learns to heal wounds with his hands, another teaches him how to trap creatures by summoning a magical web.

On his most recent ascent to the spiritual plane, his ancestors convened a council and spoke to Lars.

“Young Fang-Ripper, you have completed this part of your training, to finish you must go on a vision quest. There are monsters lurking in the river nearby, they are ghar and if you defeat them then you will gain their spirit and be tough like they are.  But know this brave hunter, the ghar are there because of a relic lost to our tribe long ago, they are drawn to its power. Go and seek it, so you may return it to our tribe one day.”

So it is that Lars Fang-Ripper is looking for heroes to aid him in his hunting party. There is also a bounty out for the ghars whose shells sell for much coin.  Who will join the young Fang-Ripper on his quest?

As noted earlier, there is a bounty offered to any who successfully deal with the ghar haunting the Gana Delta west and south of Cothon, namely the right of the hunters to keep the creatures' valuable shells (their interior is lined with a pearlescent material, excellent for ornamentation, and worth up to 1600 dinars per shell, according to weight and quality).

The bounty is offered by 'Iqtadar Tolwan, whose 'iqta is specifically threatened by the creatures (though their presence actually also threatens all who traverse up or down the river, including a large number of barges and ferries, as well as those fishermen who ply the estuary and river for different varieties of fish, or for those workers who haul clay and sand out of the river for the kilns of the Brickmakers and Glassblowers Guild).