Alcander's Fantastic Voyages: Part 3

Many things have been made clear to me. Many dark things. Things I would rather not know. Things within myself that I must look harshly upon.

My own father has betrayed me, I think. But no worse than I have betrayed myself.

I was not lied to. They did bring me my father. He made many things clear. Things that perhaps would have been best left unclear.

The Heracletian Knights are not, it seems, looked upon highly in Greece these days. We were great and noble warriors against the Monotheists, but it seems some believe we have outstayed our welcome. There have been rumbles in the senates and councils and oligarchies of some of the more distant citystates that the Knights ought to be disbanded, that they control too much wealth and too much power. Distant, as I said.

The order has responded by disbanding those governments, and taking the cities. And, it seems, they want my father to assist them. He has great pull, and many ships, and they have promised him exclusive export rights on any number of goods for his assistance.

It would be good, I think, to have those who follow the path of Heracles in command of the cities. Many of them are unruly and villainous places. To have those who could root out evil at it's core could be a potent thing.

But I cannot approve of my father's role in all this. To participate in such an enterprise for greed: what good would that do? I owe respect to my father, of course, but it seems he is nothing more than a crass profiteer, riding on the coat tails of paladins, no better than the likes of Hrogar. I cannot support such aims, and so I cannot support him.

And so I told my father, that I could not take a knighthood that was offered to me only because of my father's wealth, for wealth itself was against the teachings of the order.

He laughed at me, and I was angry with him. Now I know why he laughed.

I was taken after that to a fete in my honor, to try to sway me. The food was fine, and I was commanded to drink wine. I did, though I should not have. I do not know what manner of things were added to that wine, but it was far more potent than it ought to have been.

The rest of the night was a blur, but I remember too much. I remember my commander ordering me to partake of more wine. I remember finer food than was proper. I remember being put in finery far above what befitted my station.

I remember women, being brought out in finery that surely cost more than it covered. I remember gambling, being ordered to play the dice games that brought about my downfall, and I remember...

To say that it was an orgy would surely not do the thing justice. There were men, surely, as is only proper. But the women did not remain covered for long. And other, stranger things. And all of it I was comanded to participate in.

I swore a vow to obey my superiors, and so I did. I obeyed them again and again, encouraged by the wine and whatever else they fed me.

And in my obedience, I broke every other vow I was called upon to follow.

And now I sit in my cell, my head pounding, the morning light too bright. It is all I can do to pray to Heracles. Pray to him for guidance. Pray that he will show me what I must do in the light of this, this mockery of his laws.

I believe that the law of Heracles ought to be the law of this land.

I am no longer certain of the law of Heracles is to be found among his order.

Heracles, have mercy on my soul.

Hrefna's Calling, Day 59

The Paladins, seeming lacking in anything better to do, have decided to retrace their steps to some form of Drow Laboratory. This place is evil--an entire hallway in the complex is warded against scrying, along with several of the rooms. Before heading down I cast runes to see how the future might manifest, and the result was not pretty. Halgaz, Isa, and Pethro came up, indicating that there is not much to learn for us down this path, but we are probably were to make our situation far far more complicated.

Still, when we entered the lab, I was surprised. The place has a faint but distinct smell of sea caves, and yet we are a long way from the ocean. In one room there is a mural of ancient underwater city, the likes of which are not entirely familiar to me, but for which I have seen illustrations in old books writing of the myths of the Reindeer Tribes. I do not know what this portends, but it cannot be good.

I am now beginning to understand why Óðinn felt it necessary that I join with this group. They are a formidable force to be reckoned with, at least on the battlefield, though there seems to be a bit of a problem in getting them onto the field of choice with all of their weapons pointed the same way.

First impressions:

Tupper means well, but seems to have some sort of communication issue. He went in to talk with the seneschal and, while I wasn't scrying that meeting so I am uncertain on the details, managed to get himself committed. Thankfully it was a fairly small fee to get him out this time, though it is probably best if he stays out of the Seneschal's way.

Arcadius is a Paladin of Palor and is from a land I do not recognize. We have gotten travelers in the past who bear a superficial resemblance to his race, but none of his specific culture. I do not know what this "land of the five rivers" is that he speaks of, but it sounds like a harsh place wholly lacking in the natural and untamed beauty of our lands.

Oda is one of the most amazing swordsmen I have ever seen. We have warriors in Romsdahl who are a sight to behold on the battlefield, who are capable of ignoring great injury and inflicting tremendous damage in battle. Some are blessed--or cursed--by Wod and will work themselves into such a fury that they will bite their shields and be unable to tell friend from foe. Oda possesses none of this fury, but what he lacks in obvious passion he makes up for in iron discipline. I am uncertain of what to make of this combination, and will be keeping my eye on him in the future to see what I might learn and bring back to my homeland.

Hrogar I met only briefly, but seems to be the brunt of many jokes. I wonder what a "Honest Hrogar's Emporium" is and why the others mock him for it?

Fflam is one of the Dwarves, but wholly unlike any of the Dvergar we have encountered in my homeland. For one, he is much too short and seems to lack any skill at fine crafts. I do not quite know what to make of him, though to be fair I am not sure he knows what to make of me either. He seems to be accident prone, and is the first one through the door in times of trouble, leading to an awkward situation when he ran headlong into a Drider's web.

This leaves us with Shelré. I do not know what to make of her as yet. She has evidently proven herself very useful to the group, but also seems to have some ulterior motive in her actions. Time will tell what she is trying to achieve.

That is the group the Raven Lord has seen fit to place me with. We'll see what things they can accomplish in the future.

Journal of Arcadius - Day 56

(written in an odd-looking, but recognizable scrawl)

Strange visions...

Another place, distorted time

That which should be dead, acts as if alive

Things from another realm, another world, a place of horror

Two sisters

Or two faces of the same?

Madness all the same

Good and evil

Light and dark

Sun and moon

Land and sea

Noonday sun and morning mist

But which?

What was, and should be

What will be, and should not

They gather

What do they seek?

Do they know?

What is it that I see?...

Journal of Fflam (in dwarven)

Day 56.  At least, that's what it appears to be.  Time passes differently inside the druid grove.  we go inside for a day, and find that a week has passed in the city surrounding it.  Whether this is some magic the druids have set up, or some effect of the evil inside, I do not know.  I can't imagine why anyone would want time to pass more slowly for them.

I don't understand the druidic ideal, anyway.  How does one recieve divine magic from belief in trees and bushes, rather than a god?  I have seen nothing but problems from the trees around here anyway, and yet we are trying to save them?  I know they are unnatual and occaisonally evil, but Moradin help me!

For that matter, I wonder about this Hrefna character we met this evening.  She looks to be sorcerous or something of the like.  How do they function, anyway?  Magic comes through the grace of the gods, and yet these sort draw it from within themselves, as if they would become a god in their own right.

I'm sure they'll soon learn the dangers of meddling with powers too great for them to control.

For the time being though, she seems willing to help, and I suspect she knows more than she's letting on.  The symbols she wears tell me she is from far to the north, how could she not have heard of a giant sunken city just off the coast?

I suppose I must rest now, and see what tomorrow brings.

Journal of W. E. Tupper, Day 49-56

Day 49 56
I know the upper echelons of the Sable Lions will be reading this, and if I wrote down the truth of the matter, you would not believe me. So I think it better to write a patent falsehood and be questioned on it later than to attempt to craft a subtle one and escape unqueried. All facts presented about the situation are genuine to the best of my knowledge.

I spent the week drunk and face down in a gutter.

Meanwhile, my compatriots discovered (over the past week) many things that are relevant to the matter at hand. Namely, that two sisters have been behind some of the dealings with the grove, one of which has been behind the planting the dark trees. Though cold and inhuman in their behavior (or so I have been told), neither of them seem to be vampires. Of particular note is the sister Rann, who has (through extensive research through local historical records) been planting these trees for about 300 years, though she has only spent 10 years planting them near Point of Origin and has had only 1 year of coral-gateway usage.

Both siblings live in a cave beyond the coral gate, and regularly summon unnatural beings from another realm for food and companionship. Said coral gate has been destroyed, though there is the potential for them to re-establish it. The sober part of our group successfully destroyed all of the dark tree saplings in the grove over the course of three days. Attempts to bless the dark fountain which was nurturing them ended in explosion, giving them no other choice but to clog it. During this time in the grove, they discovered the time-differential magicks in the area did not merely shift one to a point in the day where it was dark.

Shell, of whom my suspicions are either ungrounded or far too accurate, has offered to contact any rangers in the area in an effort to prevent this from happening again. After I cleaned myself up, I offered to contact the local law enforcement for assistance as well.

In other news, we got a letter from Alcander today that said he had been summoned back to his homeland. I did not know he was literate and am glad he has taken steps to become civilized. I would like to also note now that Arcadius may not, in fact, smirk every time he says my name.

Now if you will excuse me, I feel the need to spend another week drunk.

Hrefna's Calling, Day 56

The portents are strange and speak of dark things to come. A siren's call seems to be cycling in the depths, and smaller fish are booming while larger sharks and whales vanish without a trace. Fishermen and traders sail to the west and never return. We are told that crops will be good this year by the farmers, and not a fortnight later we find them being decimated by insects unlike any we have ever seen. Insects are rare enough in our lands, let alone ones that destroy crops.

Recently we had an aurochs die during calving, but when we sliced it open we found the calf to be badly deformed and long dead. We burned them both, not in sacrifice, but in warding.

My journey took me through Umea, where the rumors became even more dire. Despite it being late in the spring, the ice has not yet broken around their ports, and on the rocky beaches they are finding strange fishlife the likes of which are seen only in the deepest of deep water nets. Oarfish and dogfish, and crustaceans the size of lynx, all washed up on the stone shore. When I was there they were in the process of dealing with a whale that had washed up on the shore, deep lacerations running down the length of its body.

Point of Origin is not oblivious to these omens, and they have also become even less communicative with us than usual. When I arrived there, their seaport was closed and they were accepting no visitors who weren't on official business. We were forced to weigh anchor in a town slightly to the north. From there I made my way east to the capital of this region.

I entered without causing a fuss--elves are rare in this region, but I am the right height ((nearly 1.8 meters)) that if I throw up a hood no one would be the wiser.

First I entered the temple of Þórr to check in, where the disciples were worried about the head priest not having returned. There are rumors of a serial killer targeting foreigners, and there are rumors of a group of Paladins disappearing. I have met another group of Paladins who seem to be fighting for a cause, but seem to not be wholly aware of the greater fabric. I am uncertain where they are going, but I see that I should travel with them for the time being.

The gods choose strange bedfellows for us indeed. Why did they see fit to send me to a group of Paladins? A more fractious and divisive group is hard to imagine, and while the sea tells me this is the correct place and the correct time, I am left with some deep doubts about the future of my mission.

From what I have seen so far, the strange signs that we have been seeing in Romsdahl and its surroundings simply don't seem to be here in the same degree... but the moon is full tonight, the winds still whisper, and I cannot help but worry.

Alcander's Fantastic Voyages: Part 2

I am troubled.

I have been home for a day, but this is the first chance I have had to write. I have been... busy.

When I left the ship, I was simply glad to be home. It has been too long since I have smelled grape leaves, though I feel it would be against my vows to eat them.

I hardly got to enjoy it. I was rushed off to the Temple of Heracles. There, I was taken to a small room with a drawn bath. I was commanded to bathe. This goes against all that I have been taught, but I was commanded, and so, against my better judgement, I used the bath that was there.

While I was busy, the Master of Possessions came and took my weapons and my lion skin. Had I noticed, I would have tried to stop him. The bone belongs to all, as it is a weapon, and the same goes for the bow. But the skin is mine, claimed from a lion in battle, the only thing that I am allowed to own. And in it's place, what did I find when I stepped from that bath? A new, unworn skin, encrusted with jewels and smelling that like that Elven warrior. A bow waited, plated in gold, and not even having a string. And in place of that bone was a mace that would have crumbled upon impact with any true foe, so decorated and ceremonial it was. I asked the Master of Possessions for real weapons, but he told me to remember that I was to use all things that were given me by the order. So I put on that skin, feeling more vile than before I had bathed.

Without so much as a break, I was ushered off to be made a full Brother of Heracles. There was already a council gathered, and I was instructed to stand while the council decided whether my deeds would be worthy of admittance. I doubted they would be, having not done too much.

My deeds, it seemed, were plenty. Thought I have only met the one dragon, it was said that I slaid an elder one. I smote an entire arsenol of monotheists with a single stroke of my mace. I built a great road through trackless wastes, by defeating a djinn in single combat and forcing it to do my bidding. I bedded the Tarrasque. I sank an entire continent of the enemies of Greece into the ocean. I don't even know where Atlantis is!

The council would not listen to my protestations, and so I was forced to make them more loudly until I was heard. I believe that Heracles himself had to lend me his voice to reach that volume, but they listened.

I told the council that I had done none of these deeds. That while my own deeds were great, these were not mine, and I could not claim them.

The Abbey swears my father told him this was all true. But my father would happily tell a follower of Odin that a camel makes a fine Arctic mount. I could not take these deeds as mine, and I asked for a chance to speak with my father before being aclaimed.

The Abbey tried to ignore my complaints and go on, but by the time I was supposed to have wielded the corpse of a Naga to slay a legion of Drow,  he could ignore me no longer.

He has promised to retrieve my father. In the meantime, I have been given a room. I say room, but it is too kind. It is the sort of sparse room that befits a warrior of Heracles, but there are two brothers  outside of it, and I have been told not to try and leave to find my father on my own.

I am supposed to be a guest of honor. It is a bad lie, but so I have been commanded to stay, and so I will.

I just hope that Heracles will give me the strength to fight through these lies and figure out what the hell is going on, here.