Aldrūan 2-4, 653 DR: The wavering fortunes of Callain the Archer. Group combs the Village of Nyl in search for evidence of Arsod’s visit two years prior. Conversations with Sadàys of the Dursòr Grân. A meeting with the Burning Hand. The journal of Arsod Salðas. Last entries of the missing man.
Continued from Village on the Edge of Death.
Kændor, 2 Aldrūan 653
Callain awoke in a familiar room. Groaning, he swung his feet from the bed, ran a hand through his hair, and surveyed the chamber. The other beds were made, their blankets folded, and pillows neatly perched against the headboards. The heaps of backpacks, clothes, and weapons that had cluttered the room were missing. His companions were gone. Callain stormed from the room, down the stairs, and found Barádas the innkeeper at his usual post. “Where are they?” yelled the disheveled man standing before him dressed only in tattoos and a loincloth. Barádas shrugged his shoulders. “They left two days ago,” he began to explain. “Two days ago?” Callain shouted. “You were in sorry shape. They asked one of the helpers not to wake you,” the innkeeper explained. “Two days ago!” Callain yelled again. “They left quietly. I don’t know where they went.” “Two days!” the man repeated. Across the common room, Fyrgol pointed at the man and whispered, “He’s not happy. It sounds like his friends left him.” The tall long-haired man cursed and paced, bellowing “Those bastards owe me money!” He then stopped mid-pace and spied Fyrgol and others averting their eyes. Seeing a brief window of opportunity, Callain spit in his palm, pushed back his unruly hair, straightened his loincloth and crossed the room. Some of those he approached sank into their armchairs, exchanging looks between them. The man soon stood nearby, towering over the table. “Hello,” he announced in a number of languages. Fyrgol and Zêla soon translated the man’s Tradespeak to the group. “Hello there,” the man repeated loudly. The man cleared his throat and explained “It would seem that my previous employers have ditched me.” Answering Tressta’s questions, he explained further that he was not from the area, that he’d been hired as a scout, and was seeking employment. He then added, “You look like people that could use a scout.” The group talked among themselves in Oðic. Behind the mostly naked scout, Tressta noticed that Barádas motioning apologetically. Tressta then asked the man if he had clothes, and to go get dressed before talking further. “You’re not going to leave are you?” Tressta assured him that they would not. After the scout ran upstairs, the innkeeper came over to the table to apologize. The group ordered some more food and asked about the stranger. Barádas explained that he and his group had been at the Ilûwyr Inn for weeks, had gone out for days at a time, but he did not know where. He believed the man to be an archer. Barádas also added that the group had tipped one of the servants not to wake the scout when they left, and that was nearly a day and a half ago. Ērēus’ only comment was that the man seemed desperate and with good reason, it was a bad place to be without friends.
The boisterous scout returned to the common room as Barádas was carrying more food and drinks to the table. The man dragged a heavy chair up to the table and began stuffing food in his mouth. The bardess, seated next to him, extended a hand “My name is Zêla, what is yours?” The scout stopped short, one hand to his mouth another reaching for more. “Callain,” the scout announced with some spattering. Tressta introduced herself as did the others, freeing Callain to continue eating. After some thought Dammon asked, “So you’re a tracker. We’re looking for an object.” Callain looked up from Zêla’s plate, meeting the unnatural gaze of the chalky stranger, “Objects are hard to track.” He responded. “They don’t have feet and don’t usually go through the waste on their own.” Callain explained that his group had been in the village for weeks and that he was familiar with some of the merchants, including the antiquarian. He further explained that his group ventured into the Wastes for a couple weeks, exploring the foundations of an old town. A priest in the group was able to shield them from the terrible weather during their travels. Callain’s group recently returned to Nyl, sold some trinkets, and were debating whether to go back into the Wastes or return to civilization when they abandoned him. Dammon then explained about the red dagger and their belief that it was somewhere in the village. The magician went on to speculate that the red dagger was probably in one of the village houses or a central lodge. The last known owner appears to have been traveling alone. After much discussion on the dagger and their available leads, the group wrapped themselves up, donned their goggles, and headed for the Old Guard Lodge.
The group pushed through the windy village streets until they came upon the doors of the Magstìr Dursòr Grân. Standing beneath three large stained glass windows, Jak knocked on the doors. The group waited patiently on the freezing lodge steps for some moments before knocking again on the heavy doors. After another minute they could hear something other than the wind that howled through the streets of Nyl, chains were being moved behind the door. Eventually the door cracked open and an old man peered out at the waiting crowd. “Who is it?” He shouted in Tradespeak. Dammon stepped forward and announced “Jak the Ðard”. The man seemed confused, so Dammon added “Ðard of Lady Nolda of Oð”. The man pushed the door outward a bit more to survey the group then slammed it closed and worked the chains some more. Eventually the door opened and the group filed into the atrium. As the old man chained the door closed behind them, the group removed their goggles and wraps and looked around the atrium. Dim colors filtered down from a central stained glass window portraying a Dragul standing above a man with a sword. The rest of the high chamber was covered with a collection of painted shields, dulled by dust and smoke. Ērēus and Jak determined that the shields represented a peculiar mix of Old Empire and Vulmùran devices. As the group set their goggles and wrappings aside the old man addressed Dammon. “Ðard Jak of Oð, what brings you to this place?” Dammon responded without correcting the man’s mistake. “We are here on a quest, looking for something.” The old man looked at each member of the group before returning his skeptical gaze to Dammon. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked. “Nothing, this is the way I am.” “Just because it’s the way you are, doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with you. You are afflicted.” The magician responded that “some people think that.” “It’s true,” their host insisted. “I deal with it the best I can,” Dammon offered. The old man didn’t seem pleased with this response, but added “We all must persevere. What brings you here?” Dammon explained that the group was searching for a stone dagger. The old man could remember nothing about such an item and referred them back to Düllogor more than once. Finally, they described the man that Düllogor had seen two years ago. The old man remembered someone like that, an investigator for the High Lord’s Council of Artifacts named Arsod. He came to the Old Guard lodge a couple times, years ago. He remembered that the man had a map of Illûwyr in his possession, but that the map was very old and contained places that have not existed for 600 years.
Jak eventually stepped forward and with the help of others asked about the lodge itself. The old man explained that it was a fraternal order of ðardram and that new members were selected based on recommendations of other members. He admitted that the lodge was once more active and attracted ðardram far and wide, who came to exchange stories and record their exploits. In the twelve years since he took over stewardship of the lodge, membership had declined. The old man explained that the village was very old. Refugees fled to Nyl during the Great Catastrophe. Several groups, led by Dekàlan ðardram, converged on this place and built its fortifications. The Eylfāe arrived soon afterward and drove the Ildûnan from this final outpost, slaughtering them along the Doomed Way. When the Eylfāe finally abandoned Illûwyr, men returned and it has remained a foothold against the Great Death ever since. “It’s a dump,” Callain added. The man did not dignify Callain’s comment. “Most of the destruction of Illûwyr did not happen due to the burning of cities and razing of buildings, it was the result of magic unleashed from the City of Ildûn. Whatever the Eylfāe did there, it ripped the life from the land.” When asked by Tressta why people would build a village here in the first place, the old man could only surmise that a shepherding village had grown around the central well. Regarding the lodges, the man guessed that they were built when the people returned, but he couldn’t say for sure. The conversation then returned to the group’s plans. The steward said he didn’t trust the Burning Hand or the Eyes of Illûwyr. As for the “haunted lodge” he believed it to be Eylfāe. Asked why they would co-exist with ðardram, he answered “I can’t imagine that they would.” As the group talked about where to search next, the man offered a few things more. “Arsod’s accent sounded similar to yours,” he said, pointing to Dammon. “The more I think about it, mind you it was years ago, Arsod wasn’t looking for artifacts so much as temples. Not Dekàlan temples, but rather spirit temples built by the ancients. Spirit nonsense. If I remember right, most were destroyed long ago, when the Dekàlans first came to Ildûn. Each district was ruled by a different horse-clan who worshiped a guiding spirit. Arsod was looking for the temple of this region, which he claimed the Dekàlans never found. He seemed well-versed on the topic and had an old map covered in notes.” Finally he added, “Be very careful here. Anyone with valuables is a target. Most get what they came for and leave. The inn is notoriously porous, there are many ways in and out. I believe that Barádas is a good man, but the place has a long history of dead guests.” With that the group asked if they could stay at the Old Guard Lodge, and the old man welcomed them. Thanking the man for his time, the group equipped themselves and left for Magstìr Askehlphylahl.
When they arrived at Askehlphylahl, the door stood open as always. Above the lintel’s enigmatic inscription stood a large round stained glass window. Portrayed was a long-haired swordsman standing amid ruins, with a jagged hole where there used to be a face. Fyrgol stepped forward, blending into the stone of the door, and stepped inside. After a minute the Feyri returned and explained that except for a pile of bodies, the lodge was mostly empty. Leading the group inside, Fyrgol showed them the grisly mound of frozen corpses, staring lifelessly at the visitors. Each of the dead bore evidence of some ghastly injury, frozen in time by the unforgiving cold. Inspecting the dead, Jak found sword and spear wounds, and vicious bites that could have inflicted by large dogs. “This is disgusting.” Callain announced. Tressta examined the walls, trying to guess what murals or furniture had once decorated this empty place. The lodge was an empty shell. Jak disassembled the pile of bodies looking for one that fit Düllogor’s description of Arsod. Nothing matched. Jak and others returned to the Old Guard lodge. After some waiting the chains clinked again and the old man looked out. They explained about the bodies next door but the steward knew nothing about them. “There’s no cemetery,” he explained. “The dead are usually pitched over the wall. When you throw a body over, the winds usually reduce it to nothing within a week.” More confused, they returned to Magstìr Askehlphylahl to look around some more. Callain discovered a rectangular stone slab in the floor of a side room. Brushing away the dirt and debris he uncovered Dekàlic inscriptions and dates. Dammon walked over and translated the stone:
“Ðr. Mazór Ordànað of Nuryth, Died 1265 HK, Defender of Kry Nyl. Askehlphylahl”
After searching the floors of the barren lodge, seven other stones were located. Each bore a different name but shared a date of death and the suffixion: “Askehlphylahl”. With these discoveries, the group returned to the Old Guard lodge a third time to speak with the old man. It was late afternoon now, and the old man spoke with them through the cracked door. He explained that he wasn’t surprised that ðardram were buried in the abandoned lodge, as many were buried in the Old Guard lodge as well. Despite gusting winds, the group stood on the steps longer to discuss their next move. The old man dissuaded them from dealing with the Eye of Illûwyr, insisting that no good could come of it. With that option removed, they decided to talk with the Burning Hand. The old man repeated that he didn’t trust them because they were foreigners from “seas away”. They thanked him again and the door closed.
Back in the Nyl courtyard, the group approached the sail-faced lodge. As they neared a figure stepped out from behind the snapping canvas. “Who are you?” He asked in Tradespeak. Callain took it upon himself to speak for the group, not wishing to deal with layers of translation. “I am Callain,” he answered. “What is your business here?” “Want to trade,” he answered simply. “What do you want to trade?” Callain looked at the others for help on this, but was met by emotionless goggles. “Trinkets,” he tried. “Not interested in trinkets,” came the quick reply. “Powerful items, long lost items, things you might find in the Wastes,” he elaborated. There was a pause in the conversation, broken only by the wind and the fluttering wall of canvas. “These are things you have?” The representative asked, with a hint of disbelief. “Possibly,” Callain vacillated. “Possibly?” The man repeated. Callain added in a softer voice, “Well, I can’t say too loudly, now can I?” Another silence followed. “One moment,” the man said at last and disappeared behind the sail. A minute later five figures emerged from the lodge, all holding swords. Callain had no delusions regarding his diplomatic skills, and was not in the least surprised that this negotiation had grown from one sword to five. “What do you have to sell?” One of the figures asked. “Perhaps buy,” Callain answered. “Buy? The story seems to be changing,” came the frustrated response. Sensing that the conversation was slipping, Fyrgol began to translate for others. “Why can’t we come in, when all the other lodges are open to us?” Jak asked. “It is not ready. We are not open,” a man responded. “Does the Burning Hand not trade? We took you for the famous trading guild?” The figure repeated that they were not prepared for visitors. “What do you want to buy? We can meet somewhere else.” Dammon suggested the inn and Fyrgol proposed the idea. The representative agreed to an evening meeting and the swordsmen filed back into the lodge.
That evening, the group selected a strategically placed table at the Illûwyr Inn. Not long after they arrived the front door opened and a gust of freezing wind rushed into the common room. When the door closed, three figures stood near the entrance. Two stood at attention with swords against their chests as a third removed his goggles and leather. Setting his items on a bench near the door, the man scanned the room, and then approached the group’s table. He stopped, nodded slightly, and seated himself. A long dark ponytail hung down his back. His clothes were foreign but well-made with exotic fabric and embroidery. With Fyrgol’s assistance, Dammon welcomed him. “Maggon,” the man introduced himself with another tip of his head. “I heard there was something you wanted to buy.” Dammon explained some about the red stone dagger. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” Maggon responded. “Who am I speaking with?” Dammon offered his name and explained that they had come from Oð. The man answered that he was from Marádū and suggested that Dammon “travel more” when he admitted to never hearing of the place. “It’s one of the largest cities you’ll ever find,” Maggon explained. “Where is that in relation to here,” Dammon inquired. “East.” “Well, if our path ever takes us there we will certainly–” Maggon interrupted him, “It will not. It is very far away.” “So is Oð,” Dammon rejoined. “Yet here we are, travelers from very different places. Unfortunately, we are here looking for a specific item. Sorry to have wasted your time.” Maggon rubbed his hands as he withdrew them from the table. It was apparent that the establishment did not please him. “Tell me more about it, and I can ask around.” Dammon described the dagger to the best of their knowledge. Maggon listened carefully. “It is interesting that you came so far for this item. You should plan your travels more carefully.” Dammon quipped that, “Sometimes we go where we have to go.” The man nodded again. “I will ask questions. I will get back to you Dammon, should I find anything.” Before the man could stand, Dammon offered him a drink. “I will not drink this stuff,” he replied. Across the table, Callain added, “Probably a good idea. It knocks you out for days!” The man grinned, turning back to Dammon. “Will you be going out to the Wastes?” Dammon responded that he didn’t know, that is depended on where their search took them. “If you choose to go,” Maggon warned, “plan your journey carefully. Do not spend an extra day there. We saw your group when you arrived. You did very well against the phantoms. Their numbers are increasing. They don’t usually attack people here but they are converging just the same.” Dammon asked if anyone was investigating that. Maggon responded that their contacts in the Great Death have been reporting their movements toward Nyl. “We didn’t give it much thought until your encounter. Be careful. There are many dangers here, seen and unseen.” Dammon asked about the Eyes of Illûwyr. The man seemed unconcerned. “They are unworthy people. They will get what they deserve.” Standing the man added, “We have no business here it seems. Travel well, far, and carefully. Forgive us our initial display. I will send word to you once I learn more.” Dammon thanked him again and once more apologized for wasting his time. To this, the man stopped and explained “In all things there are opportunities for business. Fair business.” With that he nodded again and left.
Afterward, the group returned to the Old Guard lodge. They set-up camp in a cold empty room whose ceiling was painted with shields from many lands. The steward visited them and stayed to talk. He explained that he maintained an office in the lodge, but declined Jak’s request to look at his heraldry and history books. He explained that lodge membership required the recommendation of at least one lodge member, a letter from the ðard’s liege, and a modest payment. To Dammon’s inquiry on whether he knew much of the land’s history, the old man responded. “653 years ago the Acèntyran-Eylfāe armies came to Ildûn. Much of what is known has been learned based on explorations of the Great Death, for few survived the attack on the City. Kyrm Orydraun, the high temple of Drāūn was razed, and the great Dragul Yrygarmàndralyth was slain. These events precipitated the Great Catastrophe which erased Illûwyr, as it was known, from the face of Teréð End. That devastation continues to this day in the form of roving tornadoes, scouring winds, and an arctic cold that never lifts.” Jak asked what would end the current state. “That’s an old question,” answered the steward, “that no one has yet to answer.” The old man continued. “I’m not convinced that the Eylfāe are responsible for all that has transpired. I believe that these things are beyond their powers. If they had the ability to plague a land for centuries on end, why would they have suffered us to live so long? Perhaps the gods had their hands in this? Perhaps there was a weakness, an instability, that existed before the Eylfāe arrived, and their acts broke only the first link in an unraveling chain.” Before returning to his chambers the old man remembered something more. “I have thought more about your original visit and the man named Arsod. I told you he was looking for a temple. The Dekàlans introduced the Cult of Drāūn to this land as an insult to the native Ēōyn. The natives worshiped spirits of life and nature. The Dekàlans moved across the islands and destroyed the old temples, replacing them with shrines to the God of Death. Such has been done throughout history. Despite their efforts, they were not successful. As you may have found in your travels, the natives have rediscovered their spirit-gods. The provinces keep them at bay, but do not have the numbers to reclaim the native lands. The provinces must be united in this, but the High Lord and his House are foreigners to this land, and have had no success in building alliances with the Ildûnan Houses. Despite the blessing of the new Temple, there are others that hold the High House as usurpers. I do not believe Arayad could raise an army if he wanted to.” Dammon added that there were similar troubles in the North between the Yrūn and the Eylfāe, and that the struggles continued there. This was news to the steward. “There were many Occupied Lands after the war,” he explained. “There has been talk for many years that a High King or Queen might be crowned again, but I don’t see how that could happen. All the states are divided and independent. There’s no Council of Lanádus. There would be too much to rebuild. I’m not sure this world has the stomach for that much blood. That was another time.” With that the old man bid everyone good night and returned to his quarters. Dammon walked over to a large stone fireplace and with a krēádra Phlōgòstrū extempore, there was soon a glowing fire in the old lodge. The watches passed slowly in the night.
Malídor, 3 Aldrūan 653
The next morning, the group set to exploring the village. They visited a number of households, both occupied and abandoned without luck. At a carpenter’s shop they found an artisan who worked with numerous type sof imported exotic woods. He looked at Dammon’s staff for a time and claimed that he could craft something better. He mentioned other businesses in the village including the brothel, which he said did “a good deal of business”. Callain confirmed that point. Next they visited an arcanist who was preparing strange strips of meat on a counter. She explained, “Yrūn genitalia”, she explained. “People buy them. These haven’t been properly dried. I pull them inside out, sew them closed, and let them dry for a few months.” She asked Callain if he wished to make five silver, but he did not. With Fyrgol’s assistance, Dammon asked her about the red dagger and finally about Arsod. She remembered someone of his description from years ago, but said he visited only once, and bought nothing. “He asked about Ēōyn matters, temples, locations, that sort of thing. Nothing of great interest. I remember that he was on a Council of the High Lord, but that is all.” At the cartographers’ shop, the group found a husband and wife busily drawing some detailed maps with quills, rulers, and compasses arrayed before them. When asked about Arsod, the wife answered. “He did come here. He had a wonderful map, made in the South. He was looking for the temple of the spirit-goddess. No one knows where it is. The temple has been missing for thousands of years. The Dekàlans razed all the Ēōyn temples but never found their main one, an embarrassment for the first High Lord to be sure. Yes, we remember Arsod, we talked quite often, but he stopped coming years ago. Haven’t heard from him since.” The husband added that he sent several messages to Savris during his stay. “The Council of Artifacts rarely comes to Nyl,” he continued, “most of their Great Death operations are based out of Solmyræ, I believe. That’s much closer to the City ruins.” After visiting the cartographers, the group stopped by the bookseller.
The old bookseller welcomed the group into his store with a weak voice. Dammon noted immediately the man’s impressive collection, shelves upon shelves of crowded volumes. When asked about Arsod, the man recalled him clearly. “It was years ago, but he came here every day for weeks. Then he just stopped. He never said farewell. Have you heard from him?” Dammon asked about the dagger but the merchant insisted he knew nothing about it. Instead, the man explained that Arsod was researching locations and histories of the Great Death. “He paid well. He was looking for a temple. I don’t know if he ever found what he was looking for.” With that the group decided to take their search elsewhere. Dammon agreed to stay, and for a small fee of 10d, look at the books that Arsod had studied. After some hours alone with the books, Dammon found one intriguing entry regarding the explorer Arogh Oldnorach that read:
“It was autumn when the spirit-riders carried me deep into their sacred lands. To preserve the location’s secret, I submitted to a pagan blindness, and was traded between several riders over the course of the journey. It is difficult to measure the distance since the horses are both tireless and swift. During our travel we never once entered a town or village but crossed many streams and fords. At the end of our trip a woman helped me from the horse and removed my blindness with a touch. I stood outside a circle of stones, not unlike other henges throughout the islands. A crowd of priests entered the circle, following a cross-bearer whose staff was hung with hundreds of bells. Though the temple’s high place commanded an excellent view of the surrounding country, I must admit to being disappointed by the ‘great temple’ which so many had claimed to be a Wonder. When the robed worshipers reached the center of the henge, the cross-bearer rapped the butt of his staff against the stone thrice and the ringing of bells signaled all the spectators and their horses to kneel, which they did. An uncanny gust of wind then arrived carrying autumn leaves from the surrounding lands. It circled the henge and then dove into the circle’s center. It is then that I beheld the most wonderful, unearthly experience of my Mortal measure. The music that issued from the henge was more magnificent than any monument fashioned from stone and hammer. It astonished me both then and now that my Yrūn ears were capable of hearing those Immortal sounds that must otherwise be reserved for the ears of gods. Dolrum Belyranyl was indeed a Wonder and I forever changed for beholding it.”
Meanwhile, the group visited the village crane housings but found them unmanned. At Overlook Hall they found an empty observation room with circular windows that looked out over the cloudy Great Death. Finding no one to question, the group continued to the Oil Merchant near the village entrance. They were greeted by a bearded man with heavy glasses and bad teeth. “What are you doing here,” he snapped. “Don’t know him,” he barked in response to questions about Arsod. “We have wagons and barrels. We export oil. It’s what we do. It’s all we do.” Regarding messages, he answered, “It’s possible. We carry messages into the outlands all the time. We don’t read them. We won’t be making any more deliveries until the Spring.” The man mumbled under his breath as the group took their leave of him.
At the Illûwyr Inn, the group asked Barádas to summon the trio they’d spoken with days before. After a few minutes the Vereçi woman and her companions came down the stairs and joined the group at their table. With Fyrgol’s assistance, Jak asked if they’d heard of their business. The magician admitted to hearing of their questions. “You’re looking for a man that is missing. We don’t know anymore about it than that. Good luck.” Jak asked about their services and whether they’d be interested in helping if the group’s quest led them into the Great Death. Lylàna responded that it would depend on where they were going. Callain, still stuck on the fact that these strangers had learned of yesterdays questions, suggested that their questions might have reached the ears of whomever murdered Arsod. If that were the case, he conjectured, they might start looking for the group. Jak turned back to the Vereçi magician. “Can you discuss your qualifications,” he asked through Fyrgol. The woman introduced herself as Lylàna of Vereç. She introduced one of her companions as Shêrd, a man of shady skills. She introduced her last companion as Andèys, a swordsman and pistol-bearer. Callain blurted, “Those things explode in your hands.” Lylàna agreed, “The gun is only for one shot.” Andèys placed a hand on its polished handle and grinned, “It’s my conversation opener.” Lylàna explained that they were lying low for the winter, and could be interested in projects if they seemed worthwhile.
Back at the Old Guard lodge that evening the group met-up with Dammon once more. Dammon had spent all afternoon at the bookseller’s shop pouring through the tomes that Arsod had studied years before. The magician explained that the temple the investigator was looking for was lost two thousand years ago, and would likely remain lost for more. He found one early description of the temple, but nothing that would help with the search for the red dagger. At that point there was a knocking and the old steward started his march to the front door again. After much unlocking of locks and moving of chains, they heard him exclaim, “Czalun! Welcome. Come in!” A figure stepped in and removed his goggles. He introduced himself as Czalun the Armorer and explained that he’d heard that the group was asking questions and learned where they were staying. “A man of that description used to live near me. Didn’t know the man myself, but I watched him come and go for a few weeks. He seemed to live in a house near my own. After a time, I never saw him again. We figured he’d left town.” Dammon sent his familiar to investigate the story, slipping invisibly through the door when the Armorer left. Within a shot time, Dammon’s Conscience reported that the house was abandoned, but filled floor to ceiling with old furniture.
Amdor, 4 Aldrūan 653
In the morning, the group found their way to the abandoned house. The house was jammed with old furniture piled to the ceiling. Jumbled tables, broken chairs, and collapsed trunks seemed to fill every square foot of the place. There were three similarly packed rooms on the ground floor. In a rear room a staircase climbed toward the front of the house, to the second floor. At the top of the stairs stood a debris ridden hallway with two shuttered windows facing the street. Two bedrooms opened from the hall. One contained two old beds and the moldy black remains of straw mattresses; the other contained a small campsite. An empty bedroll was piled against the far wall and two pin-holed-metal lanterns lay on the floor. Callain searched the hallway and determined that they were the first visitors to this place for a long time. Jak and Ērēus returned downstairs and began breaking the furniture into firewood. Dammon and Callain moved into the camping room and began searching around. Dammon pulled a travelers sack from beneath the bedroll, emptying its contents. Callain snatched a drinking flask as it hit the ground. Dammon discovered a leather journal that bore an enameled escutcheon of three sailing ships and the Dekàlic phrase “Arm of the High Hand”. Inside the journal were a long series of entries written in an educated hand. There was no dagger, but they felt closer to discovering the fate of Arsod Salðas.
The group returned to the Old Guard lodge to give Dammon time to read through the journal. It detailed the journey of Arsod Salðas of High Lord Eloen Arayad the First of Ildûn’s Council of Artifacts on his journey from Savris following leads from Gyrdon to Kirít Nalam and eventually to Nyl in search of the Dagger of Kar Ajmur. The author described purchasing the dagger from Düllogor for twenty of the High Lord’s gold and staying in the village until winter broke. The final entries were Arsod’s speculation that he may have found a long lost Ēōyn temple which he hoped to investigate at nighttime. He purchased four coils of rope and a pack of torches for the task. The journal did not say where the temple might be though it did describe Arsod’s astonishment that if things were as he suspected, that it could be the single greatest discovery the Council of Artifacts had ever uncovered. Sharing these revelations with the group, plans were made to explore the village well.
Continued in The Descent.
Characters
- Callain = 1+1 CPs (152)
- Dammon Shroudson = 1 CPs (248)
- Fyrgol = 1+1 CPs (180)
- Jak of Cænden = 1 CPs (245)
- Tressta Drynsval = 1 CPs (238)
- Andèys
- Arsod Salðas: missing
- Barádas
- Czalun
- Ērēus of Amra = 1 CPs (319)
- Familiar = Unkn.
- Illàyma Ilân
- Lylàna of Vereç
- Maggon Gadoo
- Sadàys Màldii
- Shêrd
- Zêla ma Ler = 1 CPs (182)
Played: 15 Jul 2012