Rinn's Journal Part 4

Thirdday, 7 Februa

O God, help me! Penael is dead.

Fourthday, 8 Februa

It always surprises me at how cathartic a funeral is, especially the one we had for Panael. Rufus specifically thanked me for taking such good care of Panael’s body. Given the fate he faced had the Thanati worm taken hold, things could have been much worse. I prevented more pain. That these people have suffered so much to take comfort in death is amazing.

Now that I am past self-pity, I have begun to realize that Panael sacrificed himself that I might live and that as such, I owe him and his people my life and all that I am. Through him, Isten has finally made me comfortable about this calling for this city and these people.

We can no longer call where the hobgoblins and spiders are a “lair,” there is a far larger complex below than we ever imagined. When we followed what Cuinn called “heavy traffic,” we found a huge room with what amounts to river running through it. There was a bridge crossing the flowing water in the middle of the space and on the other side was an encampment of hobgoblins.

Morivam promised that he could incapacitate several of their number with a spell, so we decided to charge. Unfortunately, these hobgoblins were combat veterans and organized themselves quickly. Panael took a spear meant for me and as a consequence opened himself up to another. Despite Panael’s sacrifice, Morivam’s spell was too much for them and the few that remained fled.

We tried to to pursue, but the passage they retreated down proved to be a maze of natural caverns and any chase through them was deemed too dangerous. While I chopped off Panael’s head with his own sword to prevent the Thanati worm from taking hold of him, the rest of our party took stock of what the Hobgoblins had managed to smuggle beneath the city.

There were enough weapons to arm a large raid including saddles and horse tack branded with the sign of a wolf howling at the moon. There was even a long dead corpse armed with a falchion and suited in a bronze breastplate. I surmise that these items may very well have been booty from a raid either from some other group inside the city, or perhaps from before the hobgoblins slinked into Redwraith.

Given the wounds and casualties we suffered, it was decided that we retreat for now.

Fifthday, 9 Februa

The others have continued their raid into the complex. Given the loss of Panael, I could not bring myself to join them. At the moment, I am the only real protection the faithful have here in Redwraith. We decided to take the hobgoblin’s equipment and use it as an emergency stash for the church itself. Blaise and Mirela helped me to secure a large number of bricks and mortar. I have spent large amounts of my time, with intermittent help of various members of the church, to start building walls around the sunken courtyard in front of the church proper. At the very least, we will have a better defensive position and someplace to retreat to in an emergency.

I must admit, however, that I find such simple work to be restful for my spirit, if not my body.

Sixthday, 10 Februa

I am beginning to worry. No one has returned from the raid on the spiders and the hobgoblins. I did give Cuinn one my healing potions in case someone got hurt since I would not be there to minister any wounds. Still, what is taking so long?

Rinn's Journal Part 3

Firstday, 5 Februa

The others left me to pray today. They go to scout out the area they think the spiders are with the intent that we will raid their lair. We hope to rescue Holton before they carry out their threat to eat him (if, indeed, they haven’t already). Besides which, Morivam's curiosity has him suspecting everyone in the bishop’s murder and he figures that I should get to know “my future flock” (as Cuinn smilingly calls them).

I must admit, it has been so long since I have had the time to just sit and pray to my heart's content. At times like these, one remembers how important prayer actually is. My calling is here. Now. I reminded myself that letters still needed to be sent to Fr. Valinor and the Bishop of Trisagia. While I may very well end up being asked to minister to these people, that decision is not mine to make. In the terrors of yesterday I had placed that burden entirely on my own shoulders. In prayer, Isten has graciously lifted that burden onto Himself. Thanks be to God.

After gathering myself (or, rather Isten picking me up off the floor, if I am honest), I spent time talking with Panael and meeting what remains of the Church here in Redwraith. Panael is indeed a paladin, tasked with assisting and guarding the bishop. He is carrying a lot of guilt for “allowing” the bishop to be murdered. When he explained what happened in the aftermath of the battle, I understand now how an opportunity arose for those that wanted the bishop dead.

Under the necromancers, every citizen of Redwraith went through a rite of passage in which they receive what is called a “Thanati Worm.” It is a painful experience, I understand, as the necromantic creature buries itself into the base of the neck. Once there, it is impossible to remove without killing its host. While it does feed from those who receive the worm, recipients heal much faster than normal; however, they are immune to magical healing and magical damage takes more time to heal. Once a person infected by these vile creatures dies, they rise as undead unquestionably dedicated to the defense of the city.

Panael explained to me that most of the older generation of Istinites who converted (like himself) went through this rite and in order to avoid becoming undead, it is the practice of the local Istinites to chop off the heads of their dead (killing the worm before it gets a chance to works its heinous magics). In the aftermath of the battle, this task was left to Panael. It was while he was making sure his Istinite friends did not become undead that the bishop was killed.

There is also a younger generation of Istinites that have been hidden away from the Necromancers and thus do not have the worm.

It begins to make sense why the Church is so hated in the city. What might be understood to be a civic duty — taking the worm and allowing the worm to turn you into a bulwark against the city’s enemies — are eschewed by Istinism. At least now, with the death of the necromancers, our young no longer have to fear being discovered.
Speaking of which, this is all that remains of the Church in Redwraith:

• Panael the Paladin
• Grik the Apothecary who runs the Sick House
• Rufus our oldest member who cleans the temple
• Phaedra a mother of two whose husband died in the battle
• Harpax and Isidore Phaedra’s children
• Fides a widow who grew up in Headwaters and her daughter Aisle
• Tancorix a young man who works as a message runner
• Alasdair an orphan who never new his parents and adopted by the bishop
• Blaise a peddler in trinkets, and husband to Mirela

I don’t see why any of these lovely and hurting people would ever contemplate murder.

Secondday, 6 Februa

Holton lives! We raided the hobgoblin and spider lair in the wee hours of morning and managed to get one of the vile creatures to lead us to where Holton was chained to the wall guarded by some kind of ape. The creature also led us to believe that there is an unnatural breeding program going on underneath the city and we mean to stamp it out. First, I must attend to not only Holton’s wounds, but our own. Most of us are recovering from the strange venom of the spiders, which brings with it spams and paralysis. Fortunately, its effects are temporary. Isten, give us strength to rid this city of this evil!

Rinn's Journal Part 2

Fifthday, 2 Februa

What a vile and horrible place Redwraith is! I desperately want to go home and just spend my days mixing ingredients to make salves and medicines. Why I am here I do not know.

I will admit that, while I was terrified as we approached the city, some of my fears gave way to awe when we came upon the main gate of Redwraith. We had heard rumors that a giant beast had attacked the city, but I had no idea how huge the thing was until we saw the skeletal remains still poised to break down the walls of the city.

Its mouth is now used as the main gate and a horse drawn wagon can easily fit through. The bones of the creature now provide some shade and shelter to a tent city filled with merchants shouting out to customers and trying to sell them all sorts of things I had never imagined, let alone set eyes on.

Morivam inquired one such merchant about a dagger he had squirreled away in the back of his tent. I was quite taken aback when I saw that the weapon was forged steel. The man rightly had an asking price of 100 gold coins for such a fine and rare weapon.

Once, when I was a child, a friendly dwarf traveling through Headwaters on his way to the Bronze Citadel was kind enough to show me a small ingot of steel. He intended to make enough money off it to “make his son,” what ever that means. Since that day, this dagger is only steel I have ever had the privilege to see.

Of interest (to me at any rate), the merchant tried to convince Morivam to purchase the weapon before the Dwarves did, because they were buying up all the steel they could afford. How on earth did so much steel suddenly show up in Redwraith?

I was so intrigued and, dare I say, excited that I completely failed to notice that some of the City Guard watching the gate were actually undead. It wasn’t until we found the Lost Wyvern Inn (evidently the only Inn in town that survived the battle) that I realized the true horror of this place. The Inn actually had raw brains on the menu for its undead clientele and my meal was served to me by an animated skeleton. No wonder the citizenry of this place didn’t think it macabre to sell its wares in the shadow of a dead thing.

Lord, please tell me why Fr. Valinor insisted on me coming to this horrid place. I really just want to go home.

Sixthday, 3 Februa

This trip has been very revealing about my companions. Morivam is insatiably curious. Now that we have arrived in town, he is constantly asking questions and getting into conversations with complete strangers. He even insisted on getting a room so that he could study some of the items we found in the gnoll camp without interruption.

I have known Cuinn since I was a child. He always seemed to be a gruff sort of person that you would want on this sort of venture, but not really someone you would sit down and eat dinner with; however, he is a surprisingly gentle soul. He was the first of us to realize the extent of the danger I was in as an Instenite cleric in a town filled with undead and he made sure that not only if I was okay but that he had my back, as it were.

Tenel took one look at the food and service of the Lost Wyvern and noted that there was a serious business opportunity here in town. He figures that some good old fashioned halfling food and hospitality could radically change the way these people look at food and service.

I am afraid that my first impression of Holton may very well have proven correct. He has disappeared on us. He probably lost himself in the crowds and is gone forever.

While Morivam studied and Tenel kept watch, Cuinn and I decided to chase down a piece of information the yellow mage picked up in one of his conversations: there is a sick house possibly run by Istenites. We are looking for a person named Penael.

The northern part of the city is in ruin. Evidently, that was the only flank that the invading army had any kind of success. I must say I almost felt sorry for these people. The Sick House was cobbled together from one of the buildings that still had most of its wall intact. A make shift roof of oiled canvas sheltered those within.

Inside we found a number of beds occupied by people struck by disease or recovering from what looked to be magical wounds. Both Cuinn and I have skills at healing and we very quickly offered our assistance. There was a young man by the name of Grick who seemed to run the place and he was grateful to have another pair of hands.

Cuinn and I spent the day giving comfort. On one of the more severe cases, a young girl who had burns on much her body, I tried to use my healing magics. They did not work, but Grik took notice and scribbled a note which he secreted to me while clandestinely showing me that he wore an Istinite Wolfhook. Had we found the Church? Could we finally get in touch with the Bishop so that I can go home?

Seventhday, 4 Februa

Lord, will the horrors of this place never cease? Why do you try me so? Is this why you called me to this place? To be surrounded by this savagery everyday the rest of my life? Why me, O Lord? Why me?

I must make apologies to Holton. I thought basely of him. When we made to follow the map Grick had given me to find the Church here in Redwraith, we were put upon by those same talking spiders that we encountered on our way here. They informed us that we had two days to bring them an elf otherwise they would eat “our Elfsie spy.” The poor soul must had been abducted the moment he went wandering alone. To boot, Cuinn has informed us that he believes hobgoblins have infiltrated the city and he thinks he knows one of the places they are hiding. But, Lord have mercy, this is not the worst of it.

The bishop is dead. Murdered in his own chamber.

The Church has been decimated. Only a dozen of them survived the battle. Like everyone else in the city, they manned the walls. Unfortunately, the Istinites were largely on the northern wall. So many were killed on the day of the battle. Have they even had a chance to properly bury their dead?

Penael, a paladin it seems, was left as the defacto head of the Church and when he learned of me, he praised God that a cleric was sent to the Church in Redwraith to lead them into the future. Cuinn actually smiled at that and whispered in my ear “This is what we call a field promotion.”

Truly God, how can going from happily taking care of the sick in Headwaters to living in constant terror be a promotion? Why me?

Rinn's Journal Part 1

Fifthday, 25 Janus 1143

Today the initiates were very excited when news came from town that a yellow robed mage was visiting Headwaters. I must confess that I was rather giddy myself. My own interest in alchemy always had me curious as to the differences between my hobby and the arcane. Had I lived closer to the influence of the Mage’s Guild I might have chosen a different vocation.

Imagine everyone’s surprise and delight when the mage himself showed up at the monastery with a letter of introduction asking for an audience with Fr. Valinor. Lord forgive me, but my curiosity got the better of me and I went to see the man himself as he waited on our kindly village priest.

Despite being travel-worn, he seemed a rather respectable fellow whose ruffled appearance could not hide what many would consider to be a handsome countenance. The most striking thing about the man, however, was the owl that so calmly sat upon his shoulder. There was a majesty and intelligence behind those eyes I had never seen in an animal. It made me wonder if the rumors of mages having magical animal servants were true.

Lord, forgive me for eavesdropping, but I managed to overhear Fr. Valinor exclaim something about his friend Tarlo as he was glancing at the letter and leading the yellow mage into his chambers.

In our excitement at such an event, many of the initiates (including myself, I am afraid to say) were speculating why Fr. Valinor had chosen Cuinn to be the yellow mage’s chaperon. The half-elf had long abandoned the path of an initiate to help the Rangers of the Order of the Archangels patrol the area for any humanoid incursions. Were they planning some kind of expedition?

Why, Lord, couldn’t I have been chosen?

Sixthday, 26 Janus 1143

Why, Lord, did you have to listen to my prayer?

I have been asked by Fr. Valinor to accompany Cuinn and the yellow mage to Redwraith on a fact-finding mission. There was a great battle there a few months ago and no one knows what is happening now. When I protested, Fr. Valinor insisted that it was time for me to get out and see the wider-world before I settled down into my lab and take my vows. When I insisted that I was still needed because of the disease that still afflicted the camel herds, he reminded me that we had plenty of my elixirs in storage. He even insisted that I take one with me!

O Lord, please let me see beloved lab again. I promise I will watch my tongue and not let gossipy excitement get the better of me ever again…

Seventhday, Janus 27 1143

The monastery is abuzz getting our supplies ready for the journey. We must carry all of our own equipment and food, since the camels are not healthy. This doesn’t seem to bother either Cuinn or the yellow mage, whose name I have discovered is Morivam. He hails from Trisagia and has the habit of finishing my sentences, as if he knows what I am about to say. It might seem rude, but he has never misconstrued any of my intentions.

Our band of explorers has picked up two additions. Tenel of the Delver Clan will add his sword and halfling expertise with a sling to our endeavor (which makes me feel slightly less anxious about the coming days); however, I cannot say that I am happy about a mysterious fellow who only showed up in town recently. His name is Holton and despite having a chronic cough, boasts that he know the wilderness area around Headwaters well.

Lord, forgive me for being suspicious, but I have heard rumor that a bandit crew was recently put down by the Paladins of the Order but one or two managed to escape. I wonder if that is not the real story behind this fellow.

We leave tomorrow early. I must admit, the part of me that isn’t terrified is rather excited.

Thirdday, Janus 30 1143

Oh, what a terrifying and exhausting three days this has been! After an feet-stinging first day of trudging through the hill country north of Headwaters, Cuinn asked me to take the second watch, considering I was used to getting up in the middle of the night to pray. Not long after wiping the sleep from my eyes, I realized that there was movement all around the camp, beyond my ability to see clearly. I woke Cuinn, knowing that his elven blood allowed him to see more clearly at night than I. He quickly roused everyone from sleep and insisted that we retreat post-haste.

Just as I began to realize that we were in danger, arrows came raining in from the sky, and we heard a battlecry and the sounds of metal on metal. It took me several moments to realize that two of the arrows had hit their mark, both into the back of poor Tenel. Thank Isten he was still breathing, but he was in no shape to move. If he were to survive, we had to make a stand, at least long enough for me to use my magical healing.

I did not see what happened next, but when I had done my work on Tenel and he was back from the brink of death, there were several sleeping goblins around us and I heard the sound of several more retreating into the dark.

Unsurprisingly, Holton was ready to slit the creatures throats when Cuinn and (surprisingly) Morivam stayed his hand. It was decided that we would disarm the goblins and then put as much distance between us and them during the rest of the night.

When the sun rose, it revealed to us a camp of gnolls punishing a group of goblins (were they the same that attacked us the previous night?) They did not spy us, so it was our turn to rain missile fire. One was felled, and the goblins turned tail. As the gnolls charged, Holton appeared behind one and managed to kill it with one well-placed thrust of his blade. Their charge thus blunted, the rest fell easily to our own blades.

Realizing we were still not safe from the roving band of humanoids, we wandered far and wide looking for a defensible piece of ground we could use as a camp and some much needed rest. Cuinn reported that he had found something suitable, but it was already occupied (something about leaving a hippogriff mother alone being the better part of valor).

Now, finally, three days on we are weary but watchful in a rocky recess of a hill overlooking a small valley. Lord, I have never been so tired in my whole life. Thanks be to Isten that we all live to tell this tale…

Fourthday, 1 Februa

Lord, give me strength! If I thought the last several days were frightening, I was sorely mistaken. Cuinn noticed movement ahead of us today, which turned out to be three giant spiders. This was a strange sight. Not that no one hadn’t heard of the existence of such creatures. On the contrary, they are quite common in the jungles south of Headwaters. Seeing them out in the open, so far north concerned us all. The half-elf warned us that these creatures were known to be surprisingly intelligent, so when they split off in three directions, Cuinn was not only not surprised, but surmised that they might be circling around to flank us. We decided to follow the trail of one that veered of to the East.

We came upon the creature clinging to a rock face. I was not prepared for its size: the abdomen was likely five feet long, but then it began to speak! It accused us of spying on them for the elves, noting that he could smell Cuinn’s elven blood. Fortunately, it seemed uninterested in a fight unless we insisted on one. We were able to convince it we were not the spies it suspected us to be.

None of us were prepared for the realization that these creatures were intelligent enough to have language. Knowing that they also appeared to be going toward Redwraith has us all worried about what exactly we are heading into.