I once grumbled when I read reports with long gaps between entries, thinking it was mere unprofessionalism that lead to such things. It was not long into actually doing this on my own that I realized the truth. All too often, the habit is broken by dangerous circumstances, the need for quick action, or quite simply exhaustion. The resulting information from such entries is often missing key details as a result, tender bits of knowledge left at the side of the road, forgotten to the ages.

Still, the reflection upon such events that create these gaps is important. I am afraid to report that my initial mission of [REDACTED] is going to have to wait for some time now. I had intended on returning to [REDACTED] swiftly after making it to the Serpent River, leaving my current travelling companions if I could not convince them to come with me. However, recent events have made another effort far more important. I will attempt to explain.

Following the battle with the cultist “Assassins” from Dunhold, the survivors were put on trial and questioned, only to be killed by more infiltrators in the courthouse. This, combined with the information we had already gathered, gave the feuding tribes enough evidence at outside manipulation to allow them to combine efforts to fund an expedition to the base of operations of the cult. As such, we set out, funded and backed by a large number of Namegivers who were ready to go to war if our expedition did not uncover the horror constructs and their creators to their satisfaction.

The Cult made its home in a Kaer we have since discovered was once named “Enduring Hope”. On our way there, we came across a survivor from a Caravan that had been attacked. Upon following him back, we found a horror construct that was able to lull Namegivers into a sense of peace and calm while it removed their blood and skinned them. Di’oq, ever focused and never without hate, was able to shake off its unnatural effects and fought it for long enough for the rest of us to come to our senses. Freeing the merchants, we made way to a set of ruins that were being avoided by the wildlife. Making camp, we discovered that the ruins were a back entrance to the Kaer. We left the merchants in the ruins with enough supplies to last them nearly a week, told them of the force behind us, and if they ran out of food, to make for our backup as fast as they could and let them know what happened. We then proceeded into the Kaer.

The Kaer had clearly fallen during the Scourge, and this was enough to set everyone on edge. Most, but not all of the traps had been disabled, and all of the wards had been destroyed and rendered inoperative, seemingly from within. The history of the Kaer and its people will be detailed in full in a following document, as there is much that has been learned about it from the survivors.

In general, there were three groups of Namegivers that survived. Namegivers that had been transformed to resemble goats, the “Skins”, and the Cultists of the Red King, the “Assassins” we had been sent to deal with. While the Kaer itself had clear signs of being warped by horrors, it did not apparently seem to house any horrors itself, though horror constructs abounded. Of the three groups of survivors, the Goat people and the “Skins” were approachable and for the most part sane and untouched by Horrors. The Cultists, however, worshipped a Horror known as the Red King, who left the Kaer centuries ago, before the end of the Scourge. The Cultists seemed to engage in activities they felt the Red King would see favorably, in hopes that he would return to them.

After scouring the Kaer and noting multiple deficiencies in design that likely led to the eventual fall of the Kaer, we were able to find and destroy the main holdout of the Cultists, with help from the Goat people and an unlikely ally [REDACTED], who [REDACTED] in exchange for letting him leave alive. I will give him this, he knows when to drive a difficult bargain, and I have faith we will meet again. He was true to his word, however, so I will remember that in the future.

The Cultists defeated, we began to search their holdings for evidence of their involvement in the attacks against the two tribes who were currently waiting to get back to fighting. Despite several hardships involving a horror tainted tome, we found the evidence we needed and made our way back to Dunhold to settle the whole matter. Leaving the Goat people in charge, taking what records and information we could with us to learn more of the Red King, and with no small amount of wealth from the gems in the Kaer.

However, due to several incidents within the Kaer, it is increasingly likely that several of us have been in some way touched or marked by the Horror that once lived here, and more over, this Horror may have had cults all over Barsaive, waiting until the scourge ended until they began sowing chaos for his benefit. Lavnic and Kargul, seemingly unaffected and eager to move on, have left. The rest of us, however, seem to be of a similar mindset. While the Therans are still an overt threat, this, I believe, needs to take priority for now, at least for me. I will be providing further notes and clarifications as they come to me and are relevant, and this Journal will still contain my own thoughts on the matter, but until further notice, I will likely be travelling with this group for some time. We are discussing the name we will take and the items that will link us to the group’s pattern. The Unbroken is what we have agreed upon as a name, and my link to it will be in the form of a Ledger, a chronicle of our adventures. I will still keep this journal, as it will help to add perspective to our public writings, but I suspect that by the end of this, I will have several more books to fill.

Killed our way through a kaer. Encountered people mutilated by Horrors, but not corrupted. Killed monsters and assassins and the construct responsible for the murders that threatened to put two Ork tribes at each others throat. Staggering levels of stupidity and recklessness were demonstrated. The Thief demonstrated admirable levels of dedication and skill. Others did not. The Wizard over reached, but was at least capable. Others denied they even made errors, thus refusing even to learn from them. It is one thing to not linger over errors, it is another to pay the price and fail to learn the lesson.

The loot was excellent.

A few days ago we arrived at Dun’s Hold, a city in the orkish nation of Cara Fahd. That’s where negotiations between the Dancing Tigers and Burning Teeth are to take place. According to Perlag, Dun was a retired adventurer who used his amassed fortune to establish an inn at major crossroads. Like any adventurer who survives to retire, he cultivated a healthy level of paranoia, which made him build the inn as a large single tower keep: Dun’s Hold, which became the foundation around which the eponymous city grew. These days it it features a wall with an eastern and western gate, a healthy population, drab orkish architecture, and a number of guilds. Given the assassins that were after Perlag, it was only prudent to rent out an entire floor of the Hold for our group. I chose a room with a troll-sized bed, for reasons that will become apparent.

The two orkish chiefs and their bannermen weren’t due for another week or two, so our company collectively decided to find means with which to advance to the Second Circle of our respective Disciplines. The quantity of gold and gems we’d found on the assasins was enough for each of us to pay our tutors and have some left over besides. With that in mind, that very night I dragged Elessar down to the Song’s Rest, the biggest and loudest public house in the city. It was fortunately only a very short way from Dun’s Hold, and I must say I found the place very much to my liking. There was good music, good drink, lots of friendly people, and no shortage of dancing partners. Mostly orks, it’s Cara Fahd after all, but damn if orks don’t know how to party.

I leapt up onto the dance floor and began to dance, quickly making quite an impression on most of the crowd. In no time at all everyone wanted to be my friend, which is only as it should be. Sadly Elessar declined to join me, and when I took a break I found him by the bar chatting with another Troubadour who wanted to see his skills. I wished my friend good luck as he went up on stage and I sat down to have a drink. I’m happy to say her rocked the house and the other Troubadour invited him to come back stage later. That left Elessar free to accompany as I pursued my own quarry.

Earlier I had spotted a handsome elf wearing swords at his side, strutting about like he owned the place, with a small crowd of fangirls trailing behind his every step. It was admittedly on account of the girls that I decided the elf was male; it can be so hard to tell sometimes. Why with his hair done right and a bit of voice practice Elessar could wear a ball gown I doubt anyone would know different! …I wonder how difficult it would be to talk him into that? Ah never mind. The point is that the elf was no doubt a Weaponsmaster and a good one, just the person I had come to find.

The elf had retreated to a corner booth of sorts with several of his fangirls. He hadn’t spared a glance in my direction, but I knew I had his notice. I’d made myself the most interesting girl in the establishment, I had everyone’s notice, and a womaniser of his calibre would surely seize an opportunity to make a pass at me. All I needed to do was give him one, and then I would have him right where I wanted. So with Elessar a few steps behind me, I let my eyes rest on the Weaponsmaster and approached his booth. I stopped just short of it, and a moment later the elf met my gaze and smiled like he’d been expecting me.

Such a damn charming smile he has, it almost disarmed me on the spot. I have to get him to teach me that trick. He came over to where I was standing and tried to sweet talk me into accompanying him to the bar for a drink. I just smiled and asked if he was a Swordmaster, which he was more than happy confirm. The elf then pointed at my blades and wondered if they were there for decoration. “They’re at my side because I know how to use them,” I told him, “I’m an Initiate Swordmaster and I’m looking for someone of higher circle worthy of teaching me. You look like you might be up to it.”

Now that really got his attention. He proceeded to brag that he was the best Swordmaster in Dun’s Hold, no, the best in all of Cara Fahd! Then he looked down on me with a smirk, “Unfortunately, you’ll have to settle for some lesser adept to train you.” It was a challenge, and I smirked back at him, ready to meet it. I’d made up my mind that he would be my tutor, and fully intended to keep up the persevere until he relented. What followed was a rather invigorating exchange of insults, and my wit proved a formidable match for his.

Sadly, a combination of sex and alcohol has made my memory fuzzy on the particulars of the exchange, even though it’s only been a few days. The reader shall have to be content with the parting words. On seeing he could not best me in a verbal contest, he then challenged me to a physical one: a duel in front of the Song’s Rest after dawn the next day. I accepted, but he foolishly tried to get the last word, “If the kitten wants to fight, she shouldn’t be surprised if she gets hurt.” I laughed and shot back, “And you shouldn’t be surprised when this kitten gives you a few scratches in return.” He left in a huff without further word. Stormbreaker wins! Flawless victory!

With that finished, Elessar went backstage and I to the dance floor. Or at least I tried to, some of the witnesses to the exchange rushed to inform me that I’d been challenged by Yan Sunset, Swordmaster par excellence. They talked as if I had made a mistake, as if I should be intimidated, or at least concerned. Their words had the opposite effect, they confirmed that I had gotten exactly what I wanted, which only heightened my joy and excitement. In my confidence I laughed at them and continued on, intending to tire myself out a little before heading to bed.

At this point I find it more amusing to skip straight to the next morning, when a knock on the door found me back at my room in the Hold. I was comfortably sharing the bed with a pretty human woman, and an unusually handsome orkish man. See what I meant about troll-sized beds? I roused myself and opened the door to find the room service breakfast I’d ordered the prior night. Soon as I brought it inside and shut the door, the other woman shrieked in surprise at her bed mate, waking him up. He was understandably rather upset to be greeted by the words, “I slept with an ork!?” and sourly replied to her, “Yeah, and good morning to you too.”

I sighed and said the obvious, “Honey, you were blind drunk and horny in an orkish city. Not waking up next to an ork was the least likely outcome. Besides, there were two of us and I wanted him able to walk in the morning.” She didn’t have anything to say to that, but our friend, having found his pants, could not resist observing, “I liked her better drunk, then she couldn’t get enough ork.” Surprisingly that actually made her blush, and I offered her some tea, which she declined. “As you wish,” I told her, “but know that if you find yourself with child, it’s not mine.” Her blush deepened as she grabbed the cup, “Oh that kind of tea.” Yes! That kind of tea! By the passions woman, you’re just lucky I felt like giving a damn.

I finished getting dressed, took breakfast, put on my armour, and arrived in front of the Song’s Rest as the sun began to peek over the city wall. My opponent was already waiting for me, his clothes and armour bearing the colours of the sunset: reds, yellows, and oranges. I must admit it was very striking, especially after realizing that it would be rather hard to tell if I’d made him bleed or not. Not that I could complain, given I favour reds myself for that same reason. I had my own harness, blades, and shield, with my veil and helmet leaving only my eyes visible. Yan Sunset didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, but he informed me that many gamblers were going to be disappointed. They were sure I would have made myself scarce by now. I had to laugh at that, just as I’d laughed at them the prior night.

With both of girded in arms at the appointed place and time, there was nothing more to wait for. We immediately began to circle each other, and his tongue struck the first blow when he asked if I veiled myself because of a hideous scar, or only to hide my resemblance to my mother. That got under my skin, and I adopted a more aggressive and unbalanced stance. My own barbed reply struck the second blow, I said that an unveiled face is a sign of respect, and he wasn’t on the road to earning it. His face twitched and I knew I got him. I then attempted an offline pass to improve my positioning and force an opening, but he intercepted me before I’d barely begun to move. I made a good parry attempt, but my blade was too far forward, allowing him to strike the third blow and open a visible gash on my sword arm.

Since I could not hide the injury, our duel ended there, before I could even take my first swing. Yan smiled and graciously handed me a handkerchief to press on my wound. He complimented me on my counter-taunt and invited me inside the Song’s Rest so we could chat, drink, and relax before beginning my training. It seems the sharpness of my wit alone proved sufficient for him to tutor me. This is good considering both my footwork and bladework were a bit lacking that morning, but I will improve. He finally asked my name once we settled inside. I cannot quite describe the look on his face when I asked him his in return, but it was priceless.

A day or two afterwards I received a note at breakfast from Sunset. Apparently a merchant had come to him searching for a bodyguard, and he was kind enough to recommend me; by which I mean the job sounded too boring to take himself, whereas I’m in no position to refuse coin for my skills. Why was it that I swore off gambling again? My finances don’t seem to be doing any better for it… Oh right, it’s because I was beaten unconscious and sold into slavery over a gambling debt. Still got that score to settle back in Urupa. Going to be a while, but we Ashurans have a long memory for grievances.

As instructed I arrived at the Song’s Rest before dinner and dressed to kill. There the merchant offered me 40 silver pieces for one night of escorting him to a soiree hosted by the Major for the city’s movers and shakers. Not bad at all, especially after I managed to sweet talk him into a 5 sp bonus. It was mostly a pleasant evening, though being a bodyguard isn’t half as fun as actually being among the invited. Three others of the group were there: Seraph somehow obtained an invitation, Elessar was providing entertainment, and Karghul security.

I learned later that while we were enjoying ourselves, Di’oq, Varan, and Fehl were most definitely not. Especially Di’oq, who had the misfortune of being given a message to hand to the judge. Groups of bandits harassed him through the city, one of them even stealing his coin purse and taunting him with its jingle. Even after getting some of the other Warriors from the guild to form a flying column, the bandits wouldn’t let up. They stacked carts, crates, and furniture to block roads, attacked at range and up close with rocks, sticks, and bladed weapons. At one point he and the other warriors were even forced to wade into the main sewer, which was then set alight with an oil lamp.

Varan and Fehl had been tasked by the Magic Guild to guard the money changers, since most of them had gone to our little soiree. Apparently just as Di’oq and his fellow warriors were passing by their position, a crowd of orks set a bunch of straw carts on fire, scaring the oxen pulling the carts, creating a fiery stampede of burning hay and panicked bovines. Would have been quite a sight to see, no doubt. The two magicians were able to recover Di’oq’s coin purse, and with the help of the warriors and the city guard forced the bandits to retreat.

On finally getting the note to the Judge, it turned out to be information stating that the Bluebird, the leader of the Thieves guild was present at the Mayor’s party in disguise. Information that they deemed to be true given the lengths the Thieves Guild had gone to in order to prevent its delivery. This detail will prove important shortly. For now, it suffices to say that the Judge took Di’oq, Varan, and Fehl along with a large portion of the city guard to raid the party, arrest everyone present, and examine them one by one until they found the Bluebird. Also, apparently he doesn’t like the Mayor and might have been looking forward to crashing her party.

As soon as I heard a commotion at the front of the building, I immediately tapped my moneyed charge on the shoulder and told him it was time to go, directing him toward the back. Well the guard thought of that too, and a phalanx of armed men had us surrounded as soon as we stepped outside. The merchant informed me that they were the city guard and advice that we surrender. I shrugged, put my hands up in the air, and suggested we take it back inside.

I arrived at the main table just in time to see Di’oq covered in shit and looking like hell, bellowing how much he was hoping someone would resist arrest. Once I gathered that they were looking for a disguised Adept, I tried to prove my identity by reminding my favourite troll of the conversation we had the morning after we were freed from the slavers. He was unconvinced, as he put it, “Yeah I remember, but so do you, and that means the Bluebird could have tortured it out of you!” I chuckled and replied, “Damn Di’oq, you must have had a really shitty day.” He said nothing, but dear reader, know that if looks could kill his glare would have immolated me on the spot. That’s the price of victory.

About an hour later everyone was being led off toward the jail house in chains, when one of the guardsmen came running to the Judge with an urgent message: The money changers had been robbed! Now there’s a hilarious punchline. The the entire thing, the whole affair, it had all been a rouse to distract the guards from the real objective! That’s some panache right there, I was quite impressed. When I talked to him later Nethan grumbled that the heist is the only half-way impressive thing they’ve accomplished, that most of the thieves in the city are incompetent small timers. I’m sure the local citizenry prefers it that way, but he’s as disappointed as I would have been to find no bravado in the local Weaponsmasters.

Apparently Seraph got to share a cell with the mayor, which I’m told went very well considering the circumstances. Me, I spent that night locked up with the merchant I was guarding. Unfortunately I seem to have done too good of a job on making a good impression on my charge. We passed the time with conversation of the sort that’s only interesting because the alternative is staring at drab stone walls. I could tell he was into me, but things managed to avoid getting too awkward right up until he asked for my hand in marriage. I laughed until my sides hurt, and then I laughed some more, probably woke up the entire cell block. I might have been too hard on him, but really, had I wanted to settle down and marry money, I would have just stayed home and married a far larger pile of money.

Sereph’s past is easily tracked back to his village of origin, Silverstream. Silverstream is a modest elven village near to the predominately human village of Helge’s Town, and the dwarven community of Stonebreak. During the Scourge all three communities cooperated in expanding Stonebreak to house them all and they remain on friendly terms to this day. Silverstream consists of several dozen families housed in structures built onto the branches of the great oaks lining the stream from which the community takes its name.

The inhabitants were friendly enough and while it was clear that Sereph was not their favorite subject, they were willing to talk about him. Elves live for centuries, but their childhoods are not much longer than humans. With centuries of responsibility ahead of them, elves generally indulge their children and let them run wild. Sereph didn’t. He was a quite child who was much more likely to read or listen to stories than play pranks. He was not so much well behaved as abnormal.

His parents and siblings were not eager to talk about him, but they did so with affection. They were clearly uncomfortable with his choice of Discipline, but loved him. His father, Lercanis, was unforthcoming and uncooperative. His mother, Silea, proudly showed me his childhood room, which was small and cozy. An overstuffed bookshelf dominated the room. Browsing the titles revealed some of the great legends of Barsaive and tales from far away lands as well as more serious histories. His brother, Kerneth, and sister, Valren, had cordial dealings with their brother, but they were never close. Sereph was an enigma to his family.

His teacher was much better informed. Between Silverstream and Hegle’s Town is a cenotaph called The Black Pillar, a ten feet tall slab of black stone at the top of a very modest hill. At the base of the hill is a small stone house and the remains of the hut that the Nethermancer Cardis had inhabited before that. Cardis is a female elf of indeterminate age with black tiger stripes tattooed over face and perhaps other parts of her body. Her eyes glisten silver in a manner that suggests that something greater than a Namegiver is looking at you. She enjoyed talking about her protege and she used that word.

She had come here to study the Black Pillar and commune with the ghosts of the heroes who died here so long ago, but she quickly discerned that Sereph was a candidate for initiation to her discipline. “Sometimes the boy could here the spirits whispering,” she said. “They’ve been alone a long time. As someone they could almost talk to, they kept an eye on him. The rest followed inevitably.”

That told me how he became a nethermancer, but not what he was like. In fact, nothing anyone had told me about Sereph illuminated any of his character. When I told Cardis this, she laughed. “It’s easy enough to figure out. Ask him.”

“Did you?” I asked.

“We discussed many things,” Cardis replied. “But in answer to your attention I will tell you. He could discern at an early age that power is the engine that moves the world. Poltical power, military power, economic power. Magical power. Power makes the weak victims or it delivers them. It redraws the boundaries of the world. It gathers wealth to itself and upends the rich and the poor alike. It makes Namegivers free or makes them slaves. It slays dragons and burns cities. It does not care what it does. That is left to the wielders. And who are they? The greatest are heroes, who may care. Dragons, who care about their own aims. Rulers, who might care about the people, but always care about their thrones. And Horrors. Most of all Horrors, who remade the world.”

“And who wields magic that can strike down Horrors? Who can turn their own powers against them, wield they very tool they use fell all who could stand against them? You know the answer. There is only one road open to a boy who knows the cold, hard truth of the world but still wishes to be a hero. You want to know why he does what he does? So this place is safe. And all the others like it. As far as his power will reach. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

The importance of the Warrior arts has been made abundantly clear. Within the last month I have engaged in mortal combat a half dozen times and the losers have died. Less skilled, less well equipped, or simply less lucky; in the end it does not matter. Even if already dead they died. Mastery of violence is not optional, it is essential because without it life can just be plucked away. Power and killing prowess always matter while everything else can be swept away.

It has also been made quite clear the limitations of the Path of the Warrior. Warrior power did not free us from the slaver bonds, but my cunning and Thief magic did. It is not skill at arms that has allowed us to pursue this mystery, instead it is my investigative abilities and those of Nethan that have uncovered the mystery. It was a mystery with teeth so violence still had its place, but one that had to be uncovered first. Furthermore, the reckless pursuit of ‘kills’ by my companions, especially the pursuit of crippled foes when there were far better targets easily at hand, has shown the dangers that can lurk on that Path. Self aggrandizement is hardly a fitting employment of those skills. Killing is a tool. The killing arts must be wielded skillfully, firmly, and in pursuit of a worthy purpose.

I believe the Path of the Warrior has little left to teach me.

Several years ago, I remember my teacher calmly telling me that magic could be very random. Melek was patient, though I inspired several palms-to-the-face from him. I do keenly remember this now, as fire apparently felt like having some fun with me today. It was cranky, recalictrant, and spiteful – and not in a good way.

My adventuring sidekicks were up to the task of keeping most of the assassins and zombies in the old building we stormed occupied, allowing me my proper position of choosing who should receive fire to the face. The very first time, however, it was my face. I was attempting to grow a beard and moustache, and now those two weeks of passive hair-growing work are rendered null and void. Thankfully, the next several times it were the faces of those I was attempting to aim at, so there’s that.

Continuing to be involved in Ork tribal negotiations. Boring as watching paint dry, except for the murder attempts and the Thief shenanigans. Swordmaster is pleasingly flamboyant, Troubadour is unexpectedly bland, and only Nethan seems to have any talent for investigation.

So we did some digging together and found a hostile Nethermancer with Cadaver Men pets. And by we, I of course mean my magic was invaluable in establishing this before we ran into cannibalistic undead slaves. Undead Struggle proved very effective and the rest are still obsessed with who strikes the killing blow. Perhaps some sort of fever? Or maybe just inferior mental processes.

Cadaver Men dispatched, assassins killed, Nethermancer routed. I believe we have retrieved the grimoire. Things are looking up.

I received a note from [REDACTED] this morning, and it’s not good. I don’t like involving the others in my quieter operations, but [REDACTED] is insisting, and I doubt [REDACTED] would do that without a good reason.

Still, Sereph is hardly the worst person to have to drag into this sort of thing. I told him I needed his help to verify some supplies for our expedition, as he is our expert with regards to Horrors and Nethermancy, both of which we’re likely to see in our next leg.

I brought him to the location, where we met with [REDACTED]. We [LARGE REDACTED SECTION]. When we met with the witness, she gave us a fragmented story of what happened. Piecing together what we could, we went back to talk to [REDACTED] and were told of several other killings that matched that description. The black-clad individual in the account sounded disturbingly like the assassins we had faced once before, but now with the aid of a Nethermancer controlling some form of undead. We went back to the inn to share what we had learned with the others, that the assassins were in the city and had snuck in undead. Unfortunately, word travels fast, and by the time we returned, an angry mob had gathered outside the inn, blaming the feuding Ork clans for the killings. Elessar, apparently terrified by unarmed civilians when the day before he had stared down two companies of armored Orkish Cavalry, decided to let Stormbreaker calm down the scared and upset people in front of them. Stormbreaker, a swordmaster from faraway lands, apparently thinks that telling these people that Horrors are loose in their streets is an appropriate method of calming them down. She just barely avoids causing a full scale panic that would have put Di’oqs escapades from weeks past to shame in the sheer amount of devastation it would have caused, managing to get the crowd to disperse in a nervous state.

We compared notes from what information we have, and after much discussion between ourselves and Perlag, including an argument from Di’oq about the finer points of who killed who, I suggested we go and gather information from our respective contacts. Di’oq, Karghül, and Lavnic headed to the Warrior’s guild to get information and possible backup, Stormbreaker, Varan, and Fehl went to the Mage’s Guild to get information and possible magical support, and Elessar, Sereph, and myself went to the Mayor’s office to see what information they had, share what we knew, as well as any way we could help coordinate the official response.

Before long, we all arrived in roughly the same section of the city, the Fighter’s Guild and the Mayor having sent bodies to help us search the area where the killings had taken place. Before long, Stormbreaker, Varan, and Fehl arrived, Fehl out of breath with information from the Mage’s guild. They had found the lair of the Nethermancer, but he would know they were coming. The Fighter’s Guild and the Guards hurried to set up a perimeter around the building while we would come in from the north and flush the Assassins out. The ensuing battle once again highlighted that we need some practice in fighting together, though it could just be that we’re not used to fighting with Lavnic yet. Still, we forgot to utilize Fehl’s utility as an elementalist prior to the fighting, despite knowing that we would be diving into it very soon, we didn’t adequately deploy ourselves against our enemy, allowing a few of us to get overwhelmed by the Cadaver Men, and once again the general bloodlust of some of the people involved resulted in nearly grinding our only source of information into a fine powder, necessitating me once again rushing to try and revive the assassin so that we can question him.

I know many Adepts are prone to bouts of murder, and that’s useful, in the right situations.

But we don’t know who to kill if we don’t get good information! What good is just random murder as it comes by you? They howl and scream about how they’re going to make everyone involved in this pay (especially Di’oq), but when the opportunity comes to find out who you want to kill and WHERE THEY ARE, no, let’s not knock this one out and ask him questions, let’s just BREAK EVERY BONE IN HIS BODY WITH A WAR RHINO AND IMPALE HIM ON A LANCE!

Passions, give me patience. I know to ask you to give my comrades sense is beyond even you, and I do not wish to drive any more of you mad. I need to meditate, I’ll finish this entry when I’m done.

It’s been a while since the affair with the Judge and the Bluebirds, and thankfully the city hasn’t erupted in another episode of madness. No, they’ve patiently waited for the arrival of the feuding clans for that to happen, which I’ll admit is consideration you would hardly get from Kratas. My training has gone well, as has the training of the others, and we have hired on a new member to our little group, an Obsidiman Warrior by the name of Lavnic. He’s quiet, but so far seems trustworthy. At the very least, if he is an agent of the assassins, he’s extremely good at seeming as boring as possible. I wasted the better part of a few days making sure of that.

In any event, the two parties made their way to the gate, and Perlag sent us to greet them. Elessar, despite having shown considerable skill at handling unfriendly Orks before, required a bit of coaching before he hit his stride. He’s going to be a valuable ally, but he needs to take charge in the arenas he is best at. People look up to troubadours, they respect them. Still, once he got started, he managed to keep the Ork Leaders from killing each other or insulting either one overly much. The interesting part came from the mercenaries each chief had hired, who began chatting with us and each other as we entered. We set up a meeting with them later to follow up on what they were talking about, and the two factions sent their people to set up camps on opposite sides of the city.

Once we got the Chiefs to Perlag, he began the negotiations, and we met with the mercenaries away from prying eyes. They felt as we did that there was something else causing the clans to go to war, but they weren’t sure what. When it was revealed that each of the rival leaders had been attacked by Assassins matching the descriptions of the ones that had attacked Perlag, that all but proved that a third party was involved and wanted Perlag to fail at mediating a peaceful end to the conflict. That night, we went out to the camps in search of individuals who knew more about the attacks that caused the conflict between the clans. As Karghül was busy with guard duty, I disguised myself as an Ork and acted as an interpreter, since many of the Orks did not speak Throalic, and I was the only other member of our group who saw fit to learn Orkish.

First, we visited the Dancing Tigers, and spoke to an Ork Beastmaster named Crag, who had borne witness to several of the murders, though he had never seen the killer himself. After much back and forth, it was revealed that whatever it was, it drained the blood from its victims before either burying the body halfway in the ground or hanging it from a tree, often with its skin removed, and that someone else always left tracks at the scene, though it was not the creature doing the killing. He gave us a rough location on one of his maps where the killings took place, and suggested that we talk to a Shaman friend of his from the Burning Tooth camp for more information.

We left, giving him thanks and the accommodations he requested, and made our way to the other clan’s camp. We were quickly directed to the Shaman by Orks clearly uncomfortable with the adept and his ways. He was apparently communing with the Spirits, and was still doing so when we arrived. We waited until after he had finished to announce ourselves, and what proceeded was…strange. He spoke in riddles and visions, confirming much of what Crag had told us, and indicating that we had a long journey ahead of us. After much arcane discussion, we left and returned to the Inn, where negotiations had ended for the night by way of thrown furniture. We told Perlag of what we learned, and we discussed what to do next, but the most obvious course of action seemed to be heading out to find this creature, kill it, and bring it back as proof of the third party’s involvement. Perlag agreed, and we will likely begin preparations to leave tomorrow.

Di’oq Flamequencher is an engine of chaos and devastation the likes of which even Sky Raiders would be envious. I am convinced that they forced him to learn the ways of the Warrior Adepts to try and contain his natural tendency for unchecked and all encompassing destruction.

For the love of the Passions, I went shopping for one day, and in that period of time, he managed to turn the entire city into a warzone, be involved in an attempted coup, and put nearly the entire rest of the group into jail!

Apparently, from his telling of the story, this is what happened. He received a message from an informant for the Judge of Dunhold which contained the Bluebird’s current location for the night. The Bluebird is the current head of the Thieve’s Guild here at Dunhold, and the Judge is dedicated to bringing him to justice. I won’t get into the debate about my tradition and law here, but given the general lack of skill I’ve seen thus far from that guild, I’d support throwing them in jail for crimes against larceny.

Shortly after receiving the message, Di’oq is confronted by three thugs requesting he hand over the message. The Orks, believing themselves tough, pull out improvised weapons and attempt to intimidate the giant troll with a weapon the size of them. In Kratas, those idiots would have been robbed blind after Di’oq knocked them out, and had he killed them no one would have shed a tear, such was the degree of their failure in life. Sadly, these fools suffered no such fate, and Di’oq began to head for the Fighter’s Guild feeling he would need backup. It was then that he was beset upon by more thugs from the rooftops, tossing down barrels, blocking off streets, and trying to distract him with smoke. Another thief managed to take his purse and ran off into a nearby alleyway, but Di’oq continued on. After making it to the Fighter’s Guild, he rounded up about a half dozen men to come with him as he made his way to the Judge. What happened next is slightly unclear, as Di’oq would at points lose his place while cursing, swearing, and wishing violent ends to all involved.

Still, I managed to piece together a rough narrative from him and some of the others of the group. He made his way through the city, dealing with barricaded streets (including a wall of barrels filled with rocks, which injured one of his companions, being pelted from the rooftops by barrels and other detritus, and being taunted with his stolen coinpouch in a crude attempt to lure him into what he suspected were further traps, until he and his team were forced into one of the open sewage flows, which not only rose as they waded through it, but was then lit on fire with oil, creating a terrible smoke and stench. Battering away the flaming sewage with his shield, Di’oq and his fellows managed to finally find a way out, only to find that it too had been blocked. Going inside of one of the buildings, they went up a floor and attempted to exit via window to the open plaza below. Di’oq, being a Troll, simply jumped, but as his fellows attempted to climb down, the thieves cut the rope they were using with throwing knives, injuring another of Di’oq’s group. Di’oq attempted to engage the thieves, but they managed to just barely escape. Now with two wounded in his retinue, Di’oq continued on, facing little to no resistance near the Mage’s guild. I suppose even the most crude of thugs realize that causing trouble for Mages is ill-advised, though it is possible they have some sort of arrangement.

And then they arrived at the market. By now, most of the shops had closed, and I was well back to the inn by now going over my purchases, but Varan and Fehl had apparently been requested by the Mage’s guild to provide some security for the Moneychanger’s building while the rest of the guild took part in some sort of social gathering hosted by the Mayor of Dunhold. A who’s who of power players in the town, which nobody even saw fit to tell me about, despite the fact that nearly everyone else had been invited. No, why would I be interested in meeting the rich and powerful, the people who trade in secrets that can be of incalculable wealth. No, don’t even bother leaving me a note so I can listen in while disguised as a waiter. Why would I want that? Clearly I need to talk to the rest of the team about showing some consideration for the man instrumental in saving them from slavery and death by at least giving me the opportunity to work my trade.

Still, I was at least saved what happened next. The Judge’s building in sight, Di’oq and his team began the final march to deliver the message. Then, behind them, a row of oxen-pulled carts, filled with straw blocked the street, and behind them, dozens and dozens of Orks. They lit the straw, causing the oxen to panic and run down the street towards Di’oq and his fellows. Varan and Fehl, seeing the commotion, saw Di’oq running from a mob of rioting Orks and terrified oxen dragging burning carts. Ahead, Di’oq once more heard the jingling of his coinpurse down the sidestreet he intended to use to get away from the rampaging oxen, and rather than risk the trap, kept going straight towards the very confused guards at the end of the street. Varan, trying to figure out what was going on, saw a masked figure atop the roof of a building, dangling Di’oq’s coinpurse from a rope. Figuring him to be the one responsible for this chaos, he let fly with his magic and staggered the cloaked man with a punishing spell, causing him to drop the rope and run off into the night. As the two mages left their post to help Di’oq, the crowd of rioting Orks dispersed into the night, chased by a company of town guardsmen.

Once inside, Di’oq presented the note to the Judge, who quickly rounded up the rest of his men, armed with the location of the head of the local thieve’s guild. He marched, accompanied by Di’oq, Fehl, and Varan to the location of the Mayor’s soiree, where Stormbreaker, Sereph, Karghül, and Elessar were also in attendance, either as guests, entertainment, or security. The Judge surrounded the building with his men, stormed in with Di’oq, Fehl, and Varan in tow, and put everyone in the building under arrest, claiming that one of the people there was the Bluebird in disguise, and that it would be sorted out at the courthouse. There was some shouting, some protests, but ultimately the Judge marched everyone in the building off to the courthouse to submit to testing.

After several hours and many irritated looks back and forth between those in and out of chains, a messenger arrived that managed to restore some small bit of faith in the Thieves of Dunhold. During the chaos and confusion, the Moneychanger’s vaults, which Varan and Fehl had been ordered to protect, had been robbed. The Bluebird, it seemed, was never at the party, but had arranged for this entire farce to act as a smokescreen for a huge heist that at any other time would have been nearly impossible. According to Varan, it seems likely that the Bluebird was the one with the purse, which seems possible. He was skilled enough to evade all but an adept’s trained eyes and orchestrated from the shadows, using what tools he had, however blunt and unsubtle as they were, to perform misdirection to allow an admittedly impressive theft.

If I wasn’t already getting my training from [REDACTED], I’d consider seeking him out for some pointers, but you’d think that level of skill would find a way to trickle down to his subordinates by chance, if nothing else.

In any event, eventually everyone was released, the Judge received a massive tongue lashing from the Mayor, and given the chaos, Varan and Fehl were forgiven for abandoning their posts by the mage’s guild. More evidence of a connection to the Bluebirds? I will have to investigate further.

Clearly though, I need to be in plain view more often, or the next time I go shopping, the city may burn itself to the ground before I return. Also, I think something should be done to help Di’oq relax a bit more. I’ll see if I can find some Troll comfort food, or better ale, or something. Until then, I’m going to give him as much space as he needs.

P.S. – The new armor is marvelous, if a bit thirsty. I might pass as a scout or a beastmaster in passing now, but hopefully I should be a bit better protected the next time I get into a fight. The armorers here do decent work, even though they don’t have access to nightblack blades, but oh well.