[Suggested] Journals of Dallid

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[Suggested] Journals of Dallid

Post  Kiel Reid on Tue Mar 08, 2011 2:12 pm

(As a note I found these journal were given to Garrett Maevers via the forums. Credit should go to the players who created them for all I did was copy and paste.)



It no longer confines itself to my dreams, but has become a nearly continuous feeling of dread – of finality. Again and again I see Master Hannan, the head of my Order while I trained at the Citadel, slain near a road. A brief moment of torn flesh, spilt blood, and fading life. A sense of doom increases, approaches. My every instinct screams for me to find him, to save him, before time runs out.

But while I am skilled with the Magics of the Circle, I am no sage or Valkin’Vi. I am not one for visions. So how am I seeing this potential fate for Master Hannan, or perhaps even seeing what has all ready transpired?

For this one image to assail me again and again, whether asleep or awake, specific magic must be directed at me. This indicates a sentient (though not necessarily conscious) mind with a set objective. But is that objective to help or to hinder?

Thus far, the image has done nothing but disturb my thoughts and lessen my sleep. The only action brought to mind is that of a likely fruitless search – to seek out Master Hannan, discover his fate, and prevent the image from coming to pass, if possible.

But what would such a quest accomplish? I do not know where Master Hannan is – my search could last a great while and would in all likelihood be for naught. Meanwhile, I would be alone and vulnerable while Haven would have one less Healer to aid the town’s defenders.

I see only ill results should I act on the image’s compulsions. Thus I choose to ignore it. Should Master Hannan be fated to die, then so be it. That is the nature of the Circle.

Meanwhile, the time anomalies continue with devastating effects. A nightly ritual of death and violence has plagued us for the last several months. Shortly after sundown, the smoke and lights return, out from the obscured depths pour beasts and creatures of every description, soldiers from all lands and times, and even the undead. Every night the warriors of Haven sally forth to defend the town, and every night we destroy that which seeks our destruction. Each time the wounded are tended, armor is repaired, and we all steel ourselves to face the next attack.

However, Friday night was different for several reasons.

First was the arrival of new and badly needed allies. Soldiers of the Order of the Phoenix, searching for a separated leader, found our Haven. The strange memory loss afflicting most new arrivals also had a hold of these men. Though they could recall little of their past, they quickly recognized our new Constable, Donavan, as their lost leader. The reunion consisted of a flurry of questions and explanations, as together they reforged a little more of their collective memory. Still, they could not relate much of the nature of their Order, other then they were protectors.

When the smoke and light returned once more for our nightly battle, the Phoenix warriors lent their strength to our fight without hesitation. Together, the forces of Haven triumphed quickly and easily over the legions of Broken Time.

But a far worse danger was soon to arrive.

As usual, I walked through the village after the battle, checking if any peasants suffered from the attack. Fortunately, no Time creatures had broken through to the village, and all were safe. However, as I finished my patrol, the din of battle could once more be heard from the vicinity of the Inn.

I hurried back. At the edge of the wood I found two humans watching Haven defending itself against powerful flesh golems. Both were well dressed, and I recognized neither, however the battle called for my attention so I was unable to question them. I powered my mace with the energies of life and joined the fray.

I did not fight long.

These golems were much stronger and more resilient than any we had faced before. In moments, Haven’s defenders began to fall back, many grievously wounded, some having to be carried from the field. We retreated into the Inn where we held the entryways and tended our wounds. From time to time new sorties would venture forth, do what damage to the foe they could, and fall back once more. Only the Tsunotaur, Ka, managed to stay outside for extended periods, fighting the constructs. But even the mighty Ka fell twice before them, requiring swift medical aid.

While the constructs assailed the Inn and defenders attacked and retreated, the two mysterious strangers I had encountered at the start of the fight entered the Inn. They claimed they could cast a ward to destroy or repel the golems. Given our desperate situation, their aid was readily accepted.

Their ritual took a long time, but when finally completed, the results were hideous. The floor of the Inn cracked open. A skeleton clawed its way out, sinew and muscle rapidly enveloping it. By the time it had pulled itself completely from the chasm and stood tall, it was a fully restored human. It and its summoners then stepped out of the Inn and commanded the golems to follow. Obediently, the horrors did as they were told, and together the foul group made their way from Haven.

We had been duped. The golem attack distracted us – prevented us from questioning the mages or taking too close a look at the evil nature of the ritual. The mages and the golems now had their true master back.

Azaria, Gideon, and I tracked after them. Clearly one who commanded such monstrosities had to be a monster himself, and had to be stopped. We followed them to an open field, where the newly resurrected man cast magics to part the very ground. He and his minions descended into the earth, and the ground sealed in behind them.

Azaria chose to stay and watch through the night, while Gideon and I returned to report our findings.

When we arrived back at Haven, we learned some of our fellow adventurers had discovered the newly raised entity was called “Florin”, and was likely a powerful Necromancer. Thus our foes continue to multiply. We all agreed to attack his lair on the morrow, if possible.

The next morning, we decided to seek help against Florren. Supposedly, the Cult of IO had been warring with the Cult of Florren for years, and might provide us with information and aid. I joined a small group that set out to contact them.

What we found was a slaughter. The entire Cult lay dead at their camp, most having been slain where they sat, throats slashed. The cultists had been dead for many days, and pieces were missing from the bodies. Perhaps we saw those pieces last night on the evil constructs. I performed the rites of my Order over each of the corpses, then we placed them in a shallow grave. As the rest of us prepared to depart, Grok performed her “Orc Ritual” to extract information from the dead. She learned the Cult of IO had indeed been completely destroyed, and the Cult of Floren did not perform this attack.

Most likely Pentaguishine, then. His group had consisted of four assassins, and it was not likely coincidence that four Cultists had been taken unaware, leaving only two to fight.

We returned to Haven with our grim news. A new sage in town known as Ashe seemed particularly interested in this news. She would not say why, and no amount of questioning could draw even the slightest scrap of information from her. She managed to sidestep my questions without actually dodging them – proving as elusive as any Valkin’VI. I know nothing of this recent arrival to Haven, and found myself growing suspicious of her. How many spies might our enemies have?

The adventurers of Haven were busily planning the course of action for the day, determining our strategy against our numerous foes. Of top priority was the fixing of Time, but we had also learned of a powerful evil Druid in the area – a new threat to be dealt with. There was also the matter of our attack on Floren’s lair.

As we wanted Time fixed permanently, we resolved to create a potion of shatter-resistance to coat our newly forged Sundial. To make this potion, we needed several rare herbs. Fortunately, Dark Elves in the area told us of an underground chamber where such herbs were stored.

The Druid was sending men-turned-to-beasts against us. We would backtrack one of these beasts, hoping his trail would lead us to the Druid.

Azaria returned to us from her vigil at Florren’s lair. She had tried to gain access, but could not. Only Floren knew how to open the ground and pass to and from his lair. She had heard rumblings from under the earth. Florren was up to something, but there was nothing we could do until he emerged.

Throughout our planning, an old man named Joseph kept close, listening to our every word. I grew suspicious, but could not convince him to leave. His persistence only re-enforced my belief that he spied for one of our foes. Others felt similarly uncomfortable about his presence, but none chose to remove him.

In addition to listening to our strategies and asking questions about the Sundial, Joseph’s fingers also busied themselves – searching through parchments and examining varied objects. Eventually he opened a box trapped against thieves. Poisonous fumes immediately filled the room. Most of the Guildmembers had been magically fortified against such attacks, but I had refused the charm as it restricted my control of Circle energies. Thus Joseph and I took the full effect of the trap.

I felt the poison seep through my skin and spread through my body, and instantly reacted by fortifying my constitution, slowing my metabolism, and using the very energies of Life to trap and slow the poison’s insidious progress. Thus, while Joseph succumbed instantly, I remained conscious and able to act – at least for a few more minutes.

Using the Medical Clamp, I stabilized Joseph as I worked to excise the poison. But the invader was both strong and tenacious requiring significant time and effort to defeat. By the time I had eliminated it from Joseph’s system, he was in very bad shape and I had little strength remaining.

Joseph would die without immediate aid, however, so I had no time to tend to my own condition. I believed I could hold onto consciousness just long enough to save him, and I had other tools that would give me a fighting chance of survival, as well. As I began repairing Joseph’s damaged essence, I asked my fellow Guildmembers to treat me with healing potions.

They did better. An empath began transferring the life of my colleagues into me at a rate greater then the poison could destroy it. With this help, I was able to stabilize Joseph, purge myself of the poison, and fix the damage done.

Alas, this experience did not deter Joseph from his spying. He continued to explore the Guild and listen to our words until the meeting was done. Then, as we all gathered down by the Inn in preparation to retrieve the herbs necessary for the shatterproof potion, Joseph traveled a separate way and vanished.

Most of Haven’s adventurers chose to aid in securing the herbs, and a guide, presumably provided by the Dark Elves, led us toward the cave where the herbs were stored.

We encountered a number of bestial enemies along the way, some riding giant, shaggy war-elephants. These were particularly threatening, as they would charge through our ranks, goring and trampling all in their way. As I aided a spearman against one beastman, I heard a rumbling behind me and found myself face to face with a hairy, tusked monstrosity. It plowed over me, goring me repeatedly, and I knew no more.

The first thing I felt, as I lay there, was the sensation of returning life. Not a strengthening, not a reforging of essence, but a returning of what was lost. Someone was pulling me back from the brink of death.


Not quite. I felt more like this healer was fighting Death away from me.

I opened my eyes to see Grok squatting by my side, working to restore me. Her technique was crude and uncontrolled, but undeniably effective. I had never thought healing could be aggressive, but, then again, I had never been treated by an Orc.

By the time I was back on my feet, the battle was over. Our group continued on to the cave.

The entry tunnel was enormous. As we made our way along it, we noticed blotches of black slime clinging to the walls and ceiling. The ones we passed gradually slid down to the floor and closed off our exit. While some in our party continued on to secure the herbs, the rest of us turned to clear a path. The ooze fought back, but fortunately our weapons could hurt them. We made good progress until one mound of black goo reared up and completely enveloped Vux. We battled to free him, striking repeatedly at the covering substance. At last the slime collapsed, melting away to nothing, leaving a weakened but still living Orc behind.

By this time the herbs had been secured, and we fled from the tunnel. On our way back, the giant fighting beasts we had defeated were butchered – their meat carried back to bolster the town stores.

Evening was approaching, and most of us used the next several hours to rest, recover, and eat while the Shatter Resistant potion brewed. Once properly fed, I joined a party headed out to track down the evil Druid.

We traveled through the darkened forest for awhile, until the trail of the minion we were tracking ended. Our scouts searched the area for several moments before a soft patch of earth was discovered. Each of us then jumped through the giving ground to arrive in a cave furnished as living quarters. The cavern was provisioned to provide for a number of people, though no one was currently present. The occupants appeared to have recently fled in haste. With the Druid having escaped us, we climbed back up to the surface.

We emerged to a clicking noise filling the surrounding forest. Giant beetles emerged from the brush and attacked. They were no match for our warriors, however, and soon faded back into the wilderness. Realizing the Druid may have orchestrated this attack, I tracked after them. The beetles were moving faster than we were, and their clicking sounds faded into the distance. After awhile, we turned back to return to the village. The final quest to repair time was approaching.

We arrived to discover Joseph had returned to town, demanding we give him the Sundial. When the townsfolk refused, Joseph flew into a rage – casting destructive bolts of awesome power. Several of our best warriors were nearly killed before the defenders retreated, and Joseph stalked off into the woods.

Given Joseph’s power display and his interest in the Sundial, we knew we had to transport it in secret. A small party would carry it to a place near where the quest would begin and hide there. Once everyone was assembled and ready to head out, the party would reveal themselves and join the larger group. Azaria, adept at woodland concealment, was chosen to lead the Sundial party. Ka, a Phoenix member, and myself went along to provide protection. We took the Sundial to a treeline not far from the village firepit. There we lay low and hid, waiting for the main expedition to ready themselves.

We remained undisturbed until all was ready. Given Joseph’s strength and the importance of this quest, every adventurer in Haven had assembled to see it through. When they began to set off, our small party revealed itself, and together we made our way into the woods – toward the large, shattered sundial.

We had not gone far before attackers leapt from the surrounding woods. I never saw exactly what we fought, for our warriors dealt with them swiftly and effectively. Perhaps they were nothing more than a distraction, for as the fighting drew attention outward, the true threat rose up from within.

Eli suddenly clutched his head and screamed with agony and effort as he attempted to ward off the presence trying to assert control over him. But the enemy mind was too strong, and with eyes gleaming with tortured madness, Eli lunged for the Sundial.

Several warriors fell upon him swiftly, and subdued him without inflicting significant harm. They then proceeded to search his unconscious body for anything that may have enabled his mind to be taken. Arthos found the Master’s Ring, and was immediately bound by it. He rose up and yanked the Sundial from those who carried it, plunging into the woods with his stolen prize. Again, our alert warriors caught and subdued the unwilling minion of the Master.

Corbin, with much caution, then removed the ring from Arthos using only the tip of his sword. But even this indirect contact seemed enough for the Master to grab hold of Corbin’s mind, for moments later he, too, took the sundial from its bearers and ran from the expedition. Once more our warriors gave chase, and eventually caught him. After a careful search, the Master’s Ring was found somehow in his pouch. Rather than risking any contact at all with the ring, his pouch was cut from his belt and left behind. The Master was able to take no others.

Meanwhile, the attacks against us had increased in ferocity. While the bulk of our party fought them off, the Sundial bearers and a few defenders forged ahead, leaving the combat behind. I ran to catch up with the small Sundial group.

The strategy worked, as our enemies focused on the commotion far behind us. We managed to get our prize to the old shattered Sundial without further conflict. There, we set our artifact down, and the mysterious Ashe set to deciphering the ritual to fix time with fevered determination. If she was indeed an enemy, we would certainly find out soon enough.

We had not been there long before our enemies found us. Things ran at us from all directions, and our few defenders were hard pressed to keep Ashe undisturbed as she worked the Sundial. But our enemies multiplied, and the situation quickly became unattainable. I rushed from one fallen defender to another – struggling against time to keep everyone alive. In desperation, we called for help.

The call was immediately answered as Atrim crashed through the brush, followed by all the other warriors of our expedition. Significantly re-enforced, we formed an unbreakable circle around the shattered Sundial, successfully holding our foes at bay. We were winning.

Then the Master, Joseph, appeared among us. With an evil laugh he hurled his death-bolts in every direction, tearing our defenses apart. A Phoenix warrior fell near me, most of his body reduced to ash. I quickly knelt beside him, and found life still there – held by a spirit that would not give up. Still, he had but seconds left, and his wounds were clearly beyond even my most desperate efforts. Quickly I used every healing potion remaining in my pouch, significantly lessening the warriors injuries, then set loose the magics of the Circle in dangerous concentrations. Life within the warrior strengthened as physical damaged mended and flesh regrew. At last, as the Circle magic threatened to overwhelm mortal life and the risk of essence implosion became significant, I stopped.

The warrior was still dying. I yelled for a healing potion – one would do – and fortunately one was thrust toward me from the darkness and chaos of battle. I applied the salve to his lips, and detected the man’s vitals had stabilized. His condition was still critical, but, if left alone, he would survive until further treatment could be given. I stood to search for other wounded.

To my amazement, the battle – our very surroundings – had changed. While I was lost in the flow and manipulation of Life, Ashe had completed her work. The Sundial had transported us to the past – to when the Warlord’s troops marched against Father Time, himself. The Master and his minions were left in the present - what our warriors now fought were the Warlord’s men.

Though we were no longer threatened by the Master’s power, we were still hard pressed by the sheer weight of numbers arrayed against us. More of our fighters continued to fall, and our healers sought to keep them alive. Time and again I yelled for more healing potions to re-enforce my healing abilities, and eventually both Eli and Ashe granted me all they had. So armed, I successfully performed many operations – including bringing Arthos back from the dead. Eventually we triumphed, and a grateful Father Time returned us to the present.

Wary and worn, we trudged back through the woods to Haven. But on our way back, the din of battle once more erupted behind us and someone cried out “Vampire!”

I immediately assumed it was the very creature that laid me low all those months ago. Adrenaline surged through me at the thought of a rematch. I was stronger now, resistant to his sleep spells and better prepared. I focused the power of life through me, concentrating it into my hand. I strode forward with this glowing bane of the Undead, resolved that this time I would not miss.

I reached the back of the expedition and stood to the side of the rear-guard desperately trying to hold it back. In the last instant it saw me, and focused foul magics of its own. Our spells cast simultaneously, bolts of magic streaking passed each other to explode against respective targets. The Vampire stumbled under the concentrated onslaught of Life itself, while I was overcome with unnatural terror and fled.

I stumbled away in blind fear for several crucial seconds before fighting off the effects of the spell. As I regained self-control, I heard our warriors still fighting against the Vampire. It had survived my first attempt to banish it, as I figured it possessed the power to do, but now it ought to be significantly weakened. I charged another bolt and moved toward the fighting.

Again the Vampire saw me arrive on the scene. Again it matched me spell for spell. Again we both struck true. Again he retained his grip on this world, barely, while I fled in panic.

When I was once more able to gather my wits, I immediately began drawing power to my hand. This fight would continue until the Vampire either fled or was destroyed. With the spell ready, I advanced again into combat.

The battle of wills repeated for a third time – I blasted the Vampire between the eyes while receiving a blow of fear to the stomach. But this time, the Vampire ceased to exist in a flash of light and a cloud of dust. The fear spell, now lacking a source, could no longer affect me.

However, instead of a sense of victory, I experienced a feeling of dread. The Vampire I had faced before wielded the power of sleep, and teleported in and out of combat at will. This one merely stood his ground, cast less powerful fear spells, and fought uselessly to the death. He could only have been an expendable minion of the greater Vampire… and yet still required three banishment spells along with numerous blows by magical weapons to defeat! What, then, would be necessary to overwhelm the Master Vampire?

As we reached the village and emerged from the trees, the combination of untreated wounds and exhaustion overcame Atrim, who collapsed. I quickly knelt by his side to check the extent of his injuries. Though severe, none were life threatening. As he was in no real danger, I decided to try an experiment.

Grok had treated me by forcing my lost life energy back into me. I sought to do the same with Atrim. I focused my concentration, seeking out Atrim’s “signature” in the ether. I found his missing essence, zeroed in on it, and attempted to retrieve it. Something resisted me, and I began to fight.

Then I saw the nature of what I fought. There was no nefarious entity drinking in the life of the world like nectar. What I pitted myself against was, for lack of a better word, the Circle, itself! It had absorbed Atrim’s lost energy, and I was attempting to rip it from the Circle’s very fabric!

Horrified, I ceased my struggles and returned my attention to the Life remaining in Atrim. Applying the tried-and-true methods of the Order, I strengthened what was there and manipulated magic to forge more when necessary, and healed Atrim in the standard fashion. Grok’s method may work, but was certainly not for me.

For the first time in months, the village slept soundly. No ethereal smoke, no unnatural lights, no ravaging beasts from the future or past. Time was restored.



Well, Garet, the vampire destroyed by the defenders of Haven several moons ago seems to have indeed been the dreaded Master. He must have been too distracted by our warriors to bring his full might against them, or perhaps he was drained of power from the earlier battles. Regardless, he is gone, and my heart rejoices.

I have taken to maintaining a journal, as I am fortunate to have a book. As you know, the value of a written history is immeasurable, and I would be remiss by not keeping one, given the tools available to me.

However, I have debated on what time reference should be used. I have completed my second year in this town. Before I arrived, I spent an undetermined amount of time wandering the wastelands following the cataclysm. Thus, having lost track of the years, and feeling as though Haven represents a new beginning, I have placed my personal chronological reference point, temporarily at least, at my arrival in Haven.

So my Journal starts in the fourth month of the third year since my arrival – on the second page. The first was removed and gifted to Mara, to ply her artistic talents. Thus, with a written reference, perhaps the accuracy of my accounts will improve.

A villager gifted me with a scroll in ‘payment’ for having healed his son following a rather messy, but ultimately superficial, accident involving a plow. The scroll was found amid bolts of cloth purchased from the Guthrie caravan that passed this way some months ago. It details the plight of a town known as Brokehill. The inhabitants were afflicted by a plague that sounds most unnatural. It attacks and kills the eldest and youngest of each family, the ghosts of the victims arising shortly after death to haunt the living and prevent them from fleeing the area. The scroll describes the plague attacking twice in a single season. Who knows how often it struck since its writing? The scroll is roughly 15 years old, and I maintain it in my possession.

The Guthrie caravan arrived in Haven from the South – the only clue to Brokehills location. I hope to travel that way soon in the hopes of finding this town and determining the fate of its inhabitants. If the Guthries could obtain the scroll and move on, unhindered by the undead, then the situation described by the scroll is likely long past. Still, it bears investigation.

However, during the night, the confrontation with Bear came to an abrupt end. Having perfected his transformation spell or potion, he set about capturing villagers and changing them into bears to build himself an army. Roughly 30 people were claimed this way. We occasionally encountered these bears, and though we did our best to limit casualties, some villagers perished in the skirmishes.

Scouts discovered Bears lair, and the Guilds of Light, Hope, and Phoenix attacked in force. We again strove to save any villagers whom were downed, and were mostly successful. In the end, Bear was overwhelmed and slain and the villagers were returned to normal.

The method used to save the villagers was fascinating, if somewhat disturbing. Village seers discovered a spell to undo Bears manipulations that must be focused through living crystal. They also learned where to find such crystal. A party set out according to Elder Quetzal’s directions, and eventually discovered a crystalline dog and returned with it, bound between three glowing gems. By moving the gems, we could move the dog where necessary, thus, during our attack, we positioned the dog just out side the entrance to Bears lair. Elder Quetzal performed his ritual, which took some time, focusing his magics through the living crystal of the dog. The process inflicted suffering upon the dog, though it did survive the process. When complete, the captured villagers reverted back to normal, and the dog was freed of its bindings. It quickly ran off into the woods.

Unfortunately during that same night, a scuffle occurred between a trio of Dwarves and members of the Guilds of Light and Hope. Arthos believed the Dwarves possessed a chalice necessary to confront a dark sorcerer threatening Haven, and questioned them about it. However, the Dwarves angered him with their rude, secretive, and uncooperative manner. He thus incapacitated the Dwarves with Endera’s aid. He searched the unconscious dwarves, but did not find the chalice. He placed a bottle of ale among them, in way of appeasement, and departed with a party to obtain the living crystal necessary for the Elder’s spell.

A new arrival to Haven, Robin Steele, and I stayed with the Dwarves to protect their inert forms and to offer them a formal apology upon their awakening. The Dwarves, however, refused the apology, and stormed off swearing to slay everyone upon their return. Robin, however, appeared to work out a personal arrangement with the Dwarves before they departed.

Later that night, as I walked through the village, the sounds of combat filled the air. I rushed to source of the commotion to discover adventurers fighting against the undead. I aided as best I could, using bolts of concentrated life energies to destroy the foul things, but was soon overcome by a ghoul. I awoke to the attentions of my companions to discover the ghoul had eaten part of my leg before it was dispatched. Sickened by the thought of the filthy, unearthly thing feasting on my flesh, I checked myself over for taint, and found the wounds indeed festering. I cured myself of disease before seeing to the restoration of my flesh. I then retired to the Guild Hall for some much needed rest.

The following morning a hostile bear entered town. Haven’s defenders subdued it, I healed it, and we carried it out into the woods in the hopes that, once it awoke, it would not return to Haven. As we traveled, we came across a cloaked figure in the wilderness. We set the bear down and approached; though the figure ignored all hails. At last, it turned and began moving toward us, arm extended as if in greeting, yet the figures face was hidden in an unnatural darkness within the cloak. Summoning life energies, I banished the creature, only to see five more behind it, moving toward Haven. We were fortunate to have discovered them in the wilderness, and were able to destroy the undead monsters before they could reach the town.

Afterward, a party assembled to seek out Brokehill – mostly members of the Guilds of Hope and Light, and also Robin. Robin’s story is an interesting one. Perhaps she’ll agree to recall it for you, Garrett, but I digress.

After travelling far south, in the direction from which the Guthrie caravan came, our group discovered a ruined Inn along the road. Upon investigation, we learned the trees growing from the rubble were roughly a dozen years old, which would place the fall of the Inn shortly after the events described in the Brokehill Scroll. An unlikely coincidence, the doom of the town and the Inn are almost certainly related.

Beneath the Inn we encountered creatures that appeared half-ghoul in nature. The were alive and carried no diseases, yet craved flesh and lacked intelligence. Their mouths were large and distended, their teeth sharp, their skill pale. Rumor indicates eating a ghoul will create a ghoul. The Brokehill Scroll tells how the village grain stores rotted away, and the surviving residents could not escape – blocked by the specters of the dead. Perhaps these survivors were forced to eat their fallen. Perhaps the unnatural disease infesting the corpses imparted ghoulish properties upon those who consumed them. Perhaps we fought against the very survivors of Brokehill.

Regardless, given the state of the Inn, the town of Brokehill was likely well beyond our aid. Concern for the welfare of Haven while so many defenders are away began to weigh heavily on us, and thus we returned.

On arrival in Haven, we learned the Orc tribe, Broken Tusk, had encountered a Gavin Chieftain called Nash. Nash apparently commands an army of Goblins and Gavin, and wishes to plunder Haven. However, before he does so, he wants the Guilds of Light and Hope destroyed. He ordered the Broken Tusk Orcs to do this. Fortunately, the Orcs chose to warn Haven of Nash, instead.

A town meeting was soon convened. All Guild heads attended, along with Constable Donnavan and the Orc leaders. Several other town members also chose to be present.

Unfortunately I cannot tell you precisely what went on during the meeting, for I was not in attendance. I’m afraid I have no taste for politics. However I can tell you discussion soon gave way to shouting and anger. A disagreement over town laws seemed to wedge a division between the Orcs and the rest of the town. Some townsfolk began to threaten rash actions, but fortunately all parties continued to face the disagreement with continued discussion. By the next morning, all seemed well once more.

During the night, we were assailed once again by flesh golems, presumably courtesy of Florin. As before, they were difficult to defeat, indeed, many, including myself, nearly perished in the battle, But prevail we did. Florin appears to be testing us with his creatures – perhaps observing our strengths and weaknesses. I do hope we find a way to stop him before he feels confident enough to mount a full offensive against the town.

Why he attacks us, I do not know. Perhaps he only seeks to cause destruction. Perhaps he hopes to kill us simply so he’ll have more dead minions to command. I fear any attempt to understand the motivations of a necromancer is doomed to failure.

Kiel Reid

Posts : 47
Join date : 2011-02-01
Age : 32
Location : Naperville IL

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