Journal of W. E. Tupper, Day 46-48

Day 46
Market day! Hrogar set up a table at the market in Izmir to hock some loot. I went along to help him out, but he clearly didn't need it. Kenneth set out to escort the remains of Ryan back to Point of Origin, the barbarian wandered off to parts unknown, and everyone else took the day off.

I tell you now, I have seen professional house thieves with more discretion. Cleaning supplies, torture equipment, and flasks full of spiders? Guess this is how people in the field recoup their financial losses. I managed to convince Hrogar not to sell a few of the nicer items; namely a sextant, astrolabe, and compass. If it's one thing I've learned, it's to keep the good stuff under the counter until it's called for.


Day 47
Hrogar left early this morning to see a wizard about some magical items accumulated from their adventures in the mine. I spent the morning going through my pack, making sure everything was there. He came back with fewer items and a list of what item was what, and the others divvied it all up amongst themselves.

Spent the evening meal discussing what to do about the mission at hand. The gist is thusly: at the heart of the grove lies a gigantic underground tree trunk, with no overland counterpart, that radiates evil. This is likely connected to the omninously-encroaching plague of evil trees across the land.

I would like to state now that this is truly the situation as I know it, and not at all made up. I know, I know.

Progress into the grove was previously hindered by a hidden door with a dart trap. Hot dog, I've never disarmed a druidic trap before. Fflam wanted to stock up on alchemists' fire, which sounds like a fine idea considering the circumstances. He also mentioned that holy water was effective against it as well, which shouldn't be too hard to get.

Afterwards, some of us hung about in the bar of the Dolphin and asked around about the grove. Hrogar even bought everyone a round to soften them up. Fflam found a ranger by the name of Shell Ray who claimed to know about it. She said that the doors of a druid's grove were easily opened by those that knew the secret to it. I didn't know rangers could pick locks. She agreed to meet us tomorrow at the grove and help us out.


Day 48
No better way to start a long and tiring day than with a headache.

Before we left, Hrogar mentioned he heard around that a druid had come back to town, and that there are now noises coming out of the grove. Grand. When we arrived, Shell was already there and a thick fog was hanging over the place. She told us the fog was there to cover the druids' business. Since when do trees need personal space? At any rate, searching the grove's maze took half the day and yielded nothing hostile.

Once we got down to the main chamber, Shell chatted up the tree trunk for some reason. I guess it was talkative too, because she found the hidden door right away and opened it without a fuss. Not only that, but every locked door in the place popped open instantly at her touch. Add to that an air of smugness about her, and I was almost begging for a nice mechanical lock to show up and confound her. I mean who says you can't make key-based locks from living wood, huh?

Beyond the door lay various rooms and halls, some with magical crystals on the ceiling, or vines on the walls. Rooms were set aside as living quarters, a kitchen with pantry (Shell started squeaking at mice here), and a dining or meeting area with a crystal ball on the table. I tried scouting ahead of the group, but druids are as big on booby traps as they are on real locks. Nobody around to bother us, either.

It really only got interesting when we found a secret door that led to another set of rooms, the first of which was full of medical equipment set out around a warm metal table. Now I'm not a master woodsman or anything, but I know no real druid likes to use anything metallic or artificied or whatever the heck is it with them. A trapdoor under the table held a hot clay box with strange writing on it. Arcadius worked out in short order that it was evil, charged with primarily necrotic magicks, and from his own general region of the world.

Despite these deductions, Fflam opened it and was very nearly fried by a fiery ghost-thing that flew out and up through the ceiling. A fine red gem was all that was left inside. Apparently they are used to their old methods of trap and danger investigation. We went back out to the city later to see if it had caused any harm, but fortunately (?) it had kept on flying upwards into the sky. Arcadius said it might've been a demon called a "Gen" or "Ehfreet." This was backed up by the presence of a nearby book with the same writing on it as the clay box; likely chock full of summoning instructions, though for all I know it's a seed-planting guide for hellbeasts.

Another of the hidden chambers had thirteen pots with a human-sized warped black tree in each one. The room off of that had recently-used gardening tools and vials. The last room we searched had footprints leading out from it (so sayeth Shell Ray, oh high queen goddess of the frumpy evil druid caves) and was far and away the strangest of the lot, with a fountain of pitch black water and a large nasty-looking ebony coral thing. The others had seen something like the coral structure before, and had discovered that it was a arcane gateway. I offered to scout this as well, and ended up on a chilly cliff overlooking an underwater city. Creepy as sin and back again. I suggested to the holier folk that blessing the water in the fountain may be a good idea, but only Fflam actually knew how, and he wasn't prepared to do so until tomorrow. Apparently this is more complex than just waving your hands over a flask and mumbling a few words.

Once we left, it seemed later in the day than it should have been. I was told that this had happened to them before, and was a magical occurance rather than merely our losing track of time. What a great trap, it makes you late for things. I am getting the subtle impression that druids are not typically in the market for that which is actually useful or benevolent. The plan for tomorrow is simple: after an attempt to bless the dark fountain, we will explore the other side of the gateway and search for whoever is responsible for the grove. In the meantime, we'll set up watch outside the main gate for anyone - or thing - suspicious.

~

Couldn't sleep. There's one thing out of this whole mess that keeps bugging me, and that's that necromancy doesn't tend to keep demons locked up much of anywhere. So hear me out on this, spellbook. The grove's pantry has a magical spell over it, keeping whatever is stored inside it icy cold. The setup with the metal table and the demon means you can heat or unthaw things. Did I mention the table is surrounded by medical equipment? Now, combine this with the rumors of missing persons about town and the tales of the carnivorous tree near the mine with the other coral gateway, and you have a nice little system going. Off a guy in town by using illusions as a cover, put them in cold storage until you need… something… from them, then heat them up, chop it out, take the leftovers over to the mine via coralgate and feed them to the tree.

No evidence, no witnesses, no mess. Also a minimum of contact with sunlight… which would explain the time-wasting 'trap' at the grove! It's NOT a trap, it's a tool for getting to the point in the day where it's dark enough to venture out safely! But what would vampires want to do with evil trees?

Oh ye gods, I'm beginning to think like a guard. Hell, while we're on the subject of paranoid ramblings, I've been thinking that Shell moved almost too easily through the grove. I must be sure to keep an eye on her when I can. She may even be the 'druid' that Hrogar heard about. And I could swear on St. Cuthbert's crusty sandal that Arcadius smirks every time he says my name.

Bah.

Alcander's Fantastic Voyages: Day 1

I have been summoned.

I returned to point of origin to find a summons waiting for me, calling me back to Greece to undergo the Rites of Acceptance.

I do not know why. Although there is no doubt that I have done many mighty deeds in my time here, I do not know that I have achieved enough, or done so against impossible enough odds, to be deserving of full rank in the Herecletian Brotherhood.

But here I am. Not only was a message left, but a ship as well. For Athens to have spared a ship for me seems to mean that this is a matter of some urgency. But the captain knows nothing. He assures me that my father is well, so it cannot be his death that calls me back. And the ship is not my fathers, so it is not his will that I return. And the ship does not belong to the Knights, either, but only to the common army.

What would the common army want with me?

It is a mystery. Perhaps it is tied to the lamp, which clearly the gods sent me. Perhaps, in returning to Greece, I will finally be among the honest men of my order, and can find peace and a band of true warriors with whom to battle the evil we found in the mines. A proper group of Paladins to replace this band of cowards and merchants.

For now, I must wait. I hate waiting. But the sea breeze already smells more like home, and the men of the ship speak the proper language, and mind a ship the correct way.

And what a way it is. It is truly a sign of the favored status of Greece that only our ships may command the wind, blasting by those of other, lesser races who must wallow about and wait until the wind might be blowing the direction they desire. It fills my heart with pride to see their mouths gape in awe, unable to fathom the speed of our ship.

Those heathen barbarians likely travel the entire distance to a place, too. It is a wonder that those horse-riding imbeciles every made it out of their own back yard.

The captain says it will be two days before we return home. Two days until the world sounds right again, smells right, and I can finally speak to someone truly honorable again.

Journal of Arcadius - Day 49

Through the Gate

The better part of the next day was spent dealing with the wizard and our magical items. We kept a magical Elven longsword, which we gave to Shaft, and a pair of bracers which have an enchantment enhancing the archery skills of those who wear them. We have yet to decide who should keep them. We are awaiting a final tally of the gold, net costs to identify items, of the rest. Hrogar is a... persistent negotiator.

That evening I prayed at length to lord Pelor for guidance, strength, and patience.

It seems that while I prayed my companions occupied themselves with drink and conversation, and doing so met a Ranger who knew at least something about the Druids and their grove. They also learned that according to rumor, a druid has recently been seen returning to the grove.

In the morning we made our way there, met with the Ranger, who is a woman named Shell Ray, and proceeded in. We spent the first half of the day doing a cursory map of the grove, seeking enemies, and looking for any places of note. Finding nothing of interest, we proceeded underground.

Shell Ray was able to open the door, which had proven so baleful to Fflam, with no effort at all, and then felt it necessary to make a derisive remark to the effect that perhaps the Druids had built their doors to keep out the weak or stupid. This seemed a bit mean spirited to me, but it was neither the time nor place for an argument.

Inside we explored various chambers, discovering the Druids' strange penchant for growing living doors and furniture from the roots of plants, and their simultaneous aversion to metal. Also, Tup'r has a strange obsession with a ten foot pole he carries in his backpack, and Shell Ray to all appearances has the ability to speak with mice. Most curious. In my land, as I have mentioned, any lands not cultivated are barren waste or sheer mountains. We have neither druids nor rangers, and their attitudes and abilities remain almost incomprehensible to me.

After some further exploration, including a meeting room with thirteen chairs, we came to a secret hallway and a laboratory room with a metal table. Given the circumstances, I deemed this very ominous indeed. We discovered a trap door under the table which contained a box. It was a most worrisome box... not only did it radiate both magic and evil, but if I am not mistaken, it bore script in the language of the foul, corrupt, and decadent city-states to the east of my homeland. The folk there sacrifice live victims on the burning altars of their repulsive gods, and their vile wizards and priests have played a role for centuries in instigating attacks by monsters and barbarians against us. Often we have been at war with them.

But then things went from bad to worse.

Fflam, in one of those fits of recklessness that continue to baffle me, without warning moved forward and opened the box. I took a step his way and shouted for him to stop, but it was too late. A thing, a spirit, of fire and smoke flew upwards with a fell and gleeful laugh, and a fireball that badly singed Fflam. I had only a moment to look at it before it disappeared into the ceiling, but it may have been a Djinn or an Efret - the wild spirits of the desert whose original home is said to be the legendary City of Brass.

Iyaa Haidhur! What have we done?

We discovered thirteen of the black trees of death growing in pots, and supplies for their care, and a book on the summoning and binding of demons. I noted to the others that we had released an evil spirit, even if not a demon as such, onto the world. We then moved with some speed to finish our exploration.

The final room was guarded by a seemingly immovable door that once again opened to the touch of Shell Ray. She once again made a mocking and insulting comment regarding our stupidity being the reason were were unable to open the doors. Pelor grant me tolerance and patience!

Inside was a well of black and evil water, and another of the black magical gates. Two of our companions went through and found the same cold and lifeless shore. Shell Ray mentioned that no one appeared to have passed recently through the main entrance, but only through this room and the gate. We resolved to return.

On the surface, after some investigation, we found that the Efret, if it be such, had thankfully not attacked anyone, but had instead flown straight up into the sky. However its appearance had nonetheless terrified everyone in that neighborhood.

We rested for the night, keeping watch on the gate. Fflam prayed for a Bless spell to cast on the black waters, and was granted such. We returned underground. Fflam cast his spell, but was rewarded with another fireball. He has been burnt many times, and now his skin is looking the worse for it. Some of his beard does not appear to be growing back. May the gods guide him away from his past rashness before it is too late!

Then, at last, we went through the gate. It is very cold here. There is a plain of ice further inland and a distant forest of pine trees at the feet of mighty mountains. It is clear this is not another plane, but the far north of the world. As I write this, Tupper has scouted ahead, following some steps going down the cliff face. Who knows what we face here? We and fate shall be meeting soon.

*A*

Journal of W. E. Tupper, Day 38-45

Day 38
Milya gave me this journal on the condition that I don't fill it with a 'hokey' cover story. I even had a few codewords worked out, too. Guess this won't be much of a private journal then, might even turn out to be an official record of events. Hah! Well at any rate, let's start this at the beginning.

There is (or was) a herd of Order initiates that left town over a month ago. They were sent out to find a group of paladins that went missing. Both groups were last seen in the vicinity of Izmir. As of yesterday, my duty is to find the second group, deliver a sealed letter to them from the Order, and to join their ranks so as to prevent them from falling off the map themselves.

Should I be unable to track any of them down, I am to report back to Point of Origin immediately; whereas the Order will likely send out another gaggle of initiates after them, I will get a pat on the head, and this journal gets converted into a cookbook. However, should I succeed and aid them in their quest, I would be removed from probationary status and employed by the city as a full-pay investigator upon my return.

The job originally called for just a messenger, but Stuart managed to finagle my participation as a "tactical field advisor" as well as the post-mission promotion. So, I have contacted a traderunner and plan to leave for Izmir tomorrow on the next caravan out.

And I just noticed the mark for an arcane goods consortium on the inside cover. Good night, spellbook.


Day 39
Well now I hate sheep.

The caravan turned out to be the return trip for a group of farmers from Izmir who came to Point of Origin to trade. I was stuck between a loudmouth shepherd with a severe overestimation of the sociocultural value of his livestock and his luggage trunk of a son. This bastard would not stop yammering about all the uses for sheep skins, sheep eyes, sheep guts… I do not care how delicious "haggis" sounds, I'll be damned if I ever eat it now. Fortunately, I managed to trade seats with his wife after dinner. I'm sure all of this is absolutely scintillating to read about.


Day 40
Wheat farmers are more sociable than you would think, or at least the ones based out of Izmir. Before today, I did not know you could make alcohol from wheat. Apparently their trip was very successful, as they were passing around a jug of wheat-hooch and laughing. They let me take a sip now and then, and in return I told them the story about the dead druid and the squirrel. Good times were had by all.


Day 41
Everyone on the wagon has a headache and we're all out of liquor. Now I remember why I dislike drinking. But we made it to Izmir at last, and I checked into an inn called the River Dolphin. I'll make a circuit around town to the major gossip centers tomorrow, see if I can find out where they went. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the extravagant luxury of my own private bed.


Day 42
Success! Amongst tales of evil glowing trees, rampaging shrubberies, and invisible alley fights I managed to find a thread of truth; a story of an abandoned and dangerous mine, and the group of people that set out to it three days ago. It's foolhardy, it's needlessly heroic, it's got to be them.

Politely and diligently inebriating an elderly dwarf got me the location of this mine, despite his protests that I shouldn't go. Finished up the day with the purchase of a horse, since there are no caravans going there anytime soon. The plan is to leave tomorrow morning, arrive at the mine one and a half days from now, search for any indication of their presence, and to hoof it if there is evidence that they've been slaughtered.


Day 43
Sweet Saint Cuthbert in a big green grass-skirt, riding alone is dull. Nobody else on the trail, nothing but me, my horse, and nature; and as fascinating as nature is, it is a very poor conversationalist. So I invented a game around watching for brigands on the road.

The rules are thusly:
Five points if you spot a squirrel in a tree, two if it on the ground.
Ten points if you see a deer, six for a fawn, five for either if they are dead.
Fifteen points if you see another traveler, twenty if they talk to you.
Twenty points per head for horse thieves or other such highwaymen, twenty five if you slay or evade them.
Fifty points and game if you see a dragon or other large predator. No points earned if it eats you.

My tally for today is 23.


Day 44
This morning, I woke to the sounds of distant yelling. Nobody was around, as far I could tell. Are ghosts common in these lands? Whatever it was left me alone, which I guess is good.

I was lucky enough to cross paths with three of my quarry as they were heading back to town. I had been told there was a savage traveling with them, but he was certainly friendly enough. The one with the gunny sack full of rotten meat was less so, though. They pointed out the way to the mine and I met up with the rest of them.

Delivered the letter, sealed and intact, to a fellow named Arcadius. The letter requested their attention to the problem of dark and evil trees showing up closer and closer to Point of Origin (guess there was something to those tavern rumors after all) and that I was assigned to them as an Investigator (without mention of my probationary status). They put me to work right away, with a magical chest decoy and an iron maiden rigged for zappy. After frying myself on the traps one too many times, we set out back on the road to Izmir.


Day 45
Last night, second watch heard a cry of help. When they searched for the source, they found a dead horse full of arrows. Guess it's not ghosts out here, then. Tried to rest a bit during all of this, but Arcadius was adamant that I help keep vigil while the second watch were away, to the point of lifting me bodily off the ground and standing me up like a toy soldier. I made a mental note not to anger him, at least not while I am within arm's reach.

Conversation on the road yielded the fact that the bag of rotten meat I saw was actually their former leader Ryan. I got a cold and solid feeling in my gut that I will be downright pining for a sewer to scout out by the end of this.

At least we got back to Izmir without any problems.

Journal of Arcadius - Day 46

The Mundane and the Exalted

Kenneth and Alcander left to escort Ryan's remains back to Point of Origin, along with Marion, who seems to be recovering - though only the gods can be sure. As we were unsure if Ryan would want to be resurrected, we felt it best for his family and our superiors to decide. Kenneth seemed eager to take on the task, and I wonder if he will be eager to return. Alcander was seconded as one is insufficient guard in the wilds these days.

May the gods guide them and give them strength.

The rest of us returned to the strange underground Caravanserai and confronted them about Oda and the events surrounding him. After some considerable discussion we became convinced that they in fact were not part of his original capture and neither knew nor cared of the circumstances. Untrustworthy folk, but not such villains that we could slay them with clean conscience. In the end we recovered Oda's horse and the remainder of his gear, though it seemed his original captors took all his gold.

We then returned to the surface and debated our plans. We decided to resume our work underground, slaying those monstrosities that were within our power and leaving the others for now. Unexpectedly, a man named "Tupper" rode up with a letter in hand from his excellency, the ruler of Point of Origin. In it, we were told this Tupper was to assist us in our work and that we were, when possible, to return to Izmir to deal with the cursed grove in the center of town.

I must note as an aside that only my upbringing as a Guardian and training as a Paladin enabled me to keep my composure upon hearing the name "Tupper", as in my language "tup'r" is a slang term of very rude and... intimate nature relating to personal hygiene. Honor and decorum dictate that I not mention this to the others, and will do my best to remember I am in another land with another language. I will say no more on this matter.

Tupper is an investigator, and as it turns out, a specialist in breaking locks and disarming traps. He returned with us underground while we, under Hrogar's astonishingly thorough guidance, collected such valuables as could be carried on the cart. Tupper dealt with several impediments along the way, including the hitherto seemingly immobile chest. We then returned to Izmir.

In town, we occupied ourselves with selling items and planning a visit to our wizard contact. Hrogar seems to be developing a considerable knack for commerce. I find myself once again wondering if he is truly meant to be a Paladin. May Pelor guide me away from such harsh and skeptical judgments!

Sometimes our deeds are mundane even while we work toward lofty goals. Necessary, even if some scorn them.

In the remainder of my time, I prayed. Every day the light of Pelor is renewed in my mind and spirit! Truly, it gives me comfort amidst the growing dark. Soon we will be venturing into one of the very hearts of that darkness. Surely light will triumph. O' Pelor, guide and protects us! May we not fail, may we not falter, may we protect the innocent and the weak from the evil we face, and may we triumph over that evil. Praise be to the gods, and glory to Lord Pelor!

*A*

Alcander: On the Path back to Point of Origin

Heracles give me patience.

Transporting the body of a fallen comrade is a noble duty. I can only hope that he is laid to his proper rest, but he ought to be laid to his proper rest with his family, where he belongs.

Kenneth volunteered, but he couldn't be trusted with it. From what I've seen, if some carrion beast came to devour the body he'd just wait and see what happened. Never mind that what was happening was that his comrade's corpse was being devoured. Hell, he'd probably sit by and watch the damn body rise up as some kind of god forsake undead beast, if something spooked him, first.

And Marion. Why, in the name of the gods, do I have to transport the invalids? Someone obviously thinks the clerics can heal her. They won't be able to. I've seen this before. Her spirit will just be trapped in her body, chained there by well meaning imbeciles, when what she needs is to be released from her mortal form, to allow her spirit to heal in the only place it can.

But no, I had to swear to deliver her, physically at least, alive. So that she could be dropped on her husband. Her husband, the noble paladin, who will be unable to help her. But of course he'll be so blinded that he'll feel that he has to stay beside her, to help her "heal" instead of performing the valorous deeds that should be his lifeblood. Until there's nothing left of him, either, and we have three bastards who might as well be corpses instead of two.

At least there might be hope for Kenneth, however slim.

A corpse, a coward, and a crazy woman. Is this what my noble tasks have become?

Gods, I wish I was home. At least there it is clear who I can slay in glorious battle and who I can't. Here, I am forced to deal with imbeciles who call cowardice "wisdom" and wouldn't know how to behave in a noble, valiant fashion if they had a Hera-damned manual. I'll wager those barely-civilized bastards don't even truly know how to read.

I would wager that we won't even be attacked on this trek. It would be too much to ask. Instead I'll just have to deal with Kenneth prattling on endlessly.

At least the corpse is silent.

Heracles, help me keep my oath. I promised they would all reach Point of Origin as alive as they began. It would be dishonorable of me to send them all on their way to godhood.

Perhaps it would not be ignoble of me to send myself.

I shall have to ponder this carefully.

Alcander: Day 43

The gods, it seems, have a strange sense of humor.

Of course, no mortal may explain their ways, but this past two days, I have seen more strangeness that I would ever have imagined.

First, the gods seem to have seen fit to give me a lantern. I'm not certain why. When I have need of one, I have always found one close at hand. On it's base was written, in Greek, "Looking for an honest man." I think it was left there for me.

That is, of course, foolish ego, but I am far from the lands where many know my language, and far from where my people ever conquered (though I wonder if Arcadius's people were among those that Alexander once conquered). When I picked up the lamp to examine it, I was fine. But when Hrogar tried, it did him harm.

No surprise there, I suppose. If the lamp is looking for an honest man, it would certainly be wise for it to look somewhere other than Hrogar. But it harmed the others of my party as well. I suppose I should not be surprised. Other gods hold their paladins to lesser standards than the great Heracles, and my companions have been known to be irritable at my high standards. They would even have me withhold rightful greeting from a man, simply because he was my enemy. That would be quite dishonorable.

Then there was the caravanserai underground. I don't know why you would build such a thing, much less one connected to a warren of undead beasts. I suspected that the owners of such a place must be up to no good. I roused one, against the insults of my more timid companions, and we questioned him. But we found no evil, so we apologized for breaking his slumber and left.

But evil there was, for he held a captive by the name of Oda. He seems a nice enough fellow, though his flowerly stench leaves me wondering what manner of man he might be. He seems to fight well, though, so there is that.

And we found a portal to an ancient, sunken city. It has the feel of a thing that man was not meant to know. So we smashed the portal, though it cost my weapon.

The gods, though, in their strange humor, gave me another. It is the bone of some ancient, mighty animal. I admit that it would be a superior weapon had I killed the thing myself, but the gods have granted me this weapon, and it will do.

What might the gods mean by all this? I don't know. I only know that now we are muddled in the affairs of the Dark Elves, and that cannot lead to good. Or so I would have believed. Perhaps this is the message of the gods: their work can be found in the strangest of places. Even in a prison where Beholders lie in wait.

It seems I am living in interesting times indeed.