(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!
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