Here the Mountains Whisper

June 3 2013
10 and a half hours remain

My hand crossbow needs to be re calibrated, a shot that close would have saved some trouble. I immobilized a dwarf, Dobby, who then became a map to the underground complex. The dwarves use large centipedes to move through their tunnels, which we then used to stage an ambush. The large crawlers drew dwarves in to our killzone; they wear bells on their heads as some form of alarm. One more reason to aim for a head.

Dobby continued to lead us closer to the prison section of the complex, however, the “random patrols” seem to have been increasing in frequency. Unsurprising. Dobby and I may need to have a chat soon.

A large cart filled with dwarves arrived when we reached a junction. Marshall and I filled the dwarves with arrows and bolts, the half-elf set them on fire. Upon leaving the cart, the dwarves were kind enough to position themselves as if waiting for a firing squad.

We travelled up the railway track, and we encountered heavier resistance. The dwarves have decided to wear armor and use bows. The bells continue. Marshall and I dropped dwarves from the spiral staircase; one landed with a satisfying crunch.

We have decided to stop for a breather, and I can now tend to this arrow wound.

May 6 2013
From the journal of Darren Swift


These beardless and unbranded dwarves are now aware of my short temper; the half-elf’s brother was no where to be found in the logging camp. Elanor The Huntress was rescued, a huntress that forgets natural law: the weak and the sick are left behind.

Our party slew “Deb”, the dwarven druid and the cause of the disturbances in the forest. He pleaded that a hex caused him to commit his vile necromantic acts lest he be killed by this self-crowned “Fjordlord”. Deb informed us that prisoners from the logging camp were shuttled in to a nearby cave system. Ultimately, the druid betrayed his oaths to protect the natural world; our drow granted Deb a quicker, cleaner death.

Upon entering the cave network, we encountered a long pit descending in to the darkness. I and Marshall lowered ourselves in to the pit to scout around, but saw nothing but water. The drow assisted, and explained that land was visible on the far side of the pool.

The group continues to argue about how to approach the pit, even with Marshall’s instruction.

I am at the end of my rope with these blathering fools.

The Margins of Aeric's Spellbook
This city can't into sports

Damn, I’m a lot better at sports than I thought!

[2:57 PM]
After getting drafted into Jorgen’s crazy excuse for a backup team we completely stomped those orcs. I mean we wrecked their shit in a shutout. I even tackled down their team captain to say nothing of what Elric did their winger, I mean I thought that guy was dead for a couple of seconds.

[3:10 PM]

I guess we’re the talk of the town, whole party is going out to…well party

[2:10 PM]

Nansha sent us a letter asking us to go see her at her office, I brought the rest of ‘em along with me because it seemed like a bit more than just a “good job”. Turns out it was, she’s apparently acting on behalf of the lower house and wants us to check out rumours of weird trees and undead along the southern border. Now I’ve seen my fair share of weird trees in the Feywild but they usually don’t run with undead animals, and what’s worse is that my brother Earar decided to go look into this for Nansha before we even got to town and he hasn’t sent a word back. I know Elric and William will come check this out and I don’t doubt Warden will come along if there’s some coin it as will the others.

[7:50 PM]
After that was dinner with the king, I’m fucking glad we didn’t lose this game the goddamn kingdom is run by a lunatic. “No victory without a cost” my ass, we didn’t stab those guys (Hue might have a little bit). Ate, got our rewards (10 minutes in a grandwizard’s study, heck yes) and as a team we now have a writ for the Builder’s Guild to construct us a house according to our specifications, it’ll be nice to get out of Jorgen’s house/shop. I’m a bit concerned that the King hadn’t heard anything about the necromantic stuff that’s going on in the south, I think that should take top billing and not just because my brother is missing, people in the Prime tend to underestimate what trees and pissed of nature can do.

Mar 7 2013
From the journal of Darren Swift

The festivities began in the city bringing contestants and revelers from far and wide. I chose to participate in the archery contest to provide Marshall with legitimate competition. After a narrow margin, Marshall pulled ahead with a skilled shot and took the championship; it is foolhardy to reveal all of one’s tricks in friendly competition.

Entering the melee tournament I was able to better gauge the combat abilities of these foreign heroes as well as my own companions. The self-styled wizard did not choose to enter the melee, though he did have an obsession with waving a hand in Steele’s direction; fey flirtation. A weakness to exploit. As ranged weapons were barred from entry I had to resort to deceptive blade-work. Though foreign to me during my time in the wilds, my old skill returned quickly allowing me to disrupt my targets effortlessly until I lost my edge.

Becoming euphoric with the blood-rush of bringing Steele to his last legs, I forgot about his javelins. He let fly, and with his remaining strength surged forward to deliver the final blow. I shall be wary of his tactics in the future, and my new scar shall remind me to keep my head about me lest I lose it.

Feb 21st 2013

From the margins of Aeric’s Spellbook

…so continuing from when the band of murderous thugs I’m with currently decided to hack up the orc instead of giving my magic a bit more time to set in (I think they’re just not used to the awesome power of the arcane) we continue on through the fortress of the Noblemen.

Based on the performance of the party in general I don’t expect any of the Noblemen can stand up to the sheer amount of hurt we can hand out, why in the space of a dozen seconds the party reduced one group of guards to assorted bits and I have to say that while Darren and Warden are a bit hard on the ears their marksmanship can’t be faulted.

Now, I’m a bit worried about the Drow who is travelling with us. He doesn’t really listen to Elric’s tactical advice (though I understand that you have to get up front and toast some guys sometimes) and seems intent on scouting ahead even though he completely missed an entire nest of drakes hovering inside a very suspicious canopy AND somehow got trapped in a room with an ogre even though we’d all made it outside and the ogre was about to be trapped forever, necessitating Elric to dive to his rescue in an unexpected break from his cold calculated tactical style of combat.

We’re getting down to the encounter with their leader who is a mage of considerable power, I’ve been working on a counter-spell but it isn’t quite finished so I hope that we can use our group’s odd makeup to even the odds, assuming of course we can get these two idiots out of the Ogre hole.

You know this gives me an idea for a teleportation spell, it’ll be awhile before I can even think of casting it though

[Illegible arcane markings follow…]

Feb 7 2013
From the journal of Darren Swift

…reaching our destination of the ruined Dwarven garrison our party cautiously descended in to the gloom. A heavy door that had been blown inwards in to a connecting hallway indicated our quarry’s trail led in that direction. Shackles upon the wall indicate that slaves may have been kept here in ages past. Venturing further in to the garrison we encountered a large number of orc troops led by a berserker. Our half-breed mage attempted to quell the orcs with an enchantment of some sort which proved largely ineffective compared to a hail of bolts and arrows. Marshall and I thinned their ranks while our “leader”, Elric, directed the mute drow and the priest of Pelor to dispatch the remaining orcs in melee. Berserkers may dominate a foe in melee combat, though their reckless attacks leave them defenseless against a hunter of cunning. The bolts in that idiot’s body can attest to that fact.

The enthusiastic members then began exploring at once while Marshall and I searched the remains of the orcs and recovered ammunition (…this must have been the cause of my crossbow jam…) . The sound of collapsing rock and shouts for assistance alerted Marshall; eager to subdue our quarry, we entered a new room with nothing of note to be seen. It seems as if Elric’s Steele is not as tempered as I was led to believe.

Our jesting was then forgotten as undead creatures began to approach. As Elric led the drow and Pelor-ite to battle further down a hallway, he soon returned with a look of absolute terror as the hallway exploded with radiance behind him. The blinding light subsided and a Wight was sent flying out as well. The half-breed decided to unleash magical fire upon the flesh of the undead, turning many corpses in to nothing more than ash. The Wights proved more troublesome as their unholy power allowed them to re-animate the fallen. Well placed attacks from myself, Marshall, and Elric sent the foul creatures back to the hells. There is very little sport in hunting undead; they are merely shambling, moaning, practice dummies.

Our fearless leader now thoroughly humbled, we continued through the passageways. Soon, we were alerted to taunts and jeers coming from another room. Marshall and I took to the shadows and saw that three human bandits had wounded and pinned an orc behind a pillar. Interestingly enough, they did not pursue their quarry. Marshall and I assisted the bandits off of the ledge with some well placed motivation resulting in both broken moral and legs. My crossbow suffered several misfires during the combat (…damned scavenged bolts snapped…). Magical fire dispatched the bandit reinforcements; the half-breed added insult to injury by throwing dirt in their eyes.

The foes slain, Elric began the “interrogation” of our prisoner. The orc did not offer up any useful information, nor would any being with half a wit given the farce of intimidation performed by half-breed and “Steele”. The mute drow spoke, only to be laughed at. A bolt from my crossbow put an end to the comedy; the orc extended its usefulness. Our attention is better focused on our quarry and not the ramblings of a delirious monster.


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