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Mar. 26th, 2009


The Moral Man

393/342 VoL, 9th month of Dolefaren the Brigantine, Bronze Wyvern.

I was deported from Therengia six days ago. It took me almost this long to return. They tell me the reason was my anti-baron sentiments shared in Langenfirth. That they would mistake logic for caring is testament to their blind and rabid obedience to the will of their lord.

When I returned I did murder the finest example of a citizen of Therengia I could find. This was not well received but they made their own pallet. Perhaps they will think of their loved ones first before cornering me again though I doubt it. They do not see cause and effect clearly.

I could personally give a rat fart in a high wind what these zealots think of me or my logic. Nor do I care if the Outcasts bring wine or war.  It was an interesting debate that has turned all the more interesting for it's bloody encore.

I have stopped finding it interesting or amusing that people will embrace lies over uncomfortable truths. A dog can be a pet, a pack of dogs is rarely anything but an annoyance. That they can embrace their baron with such phrases as, "My life for his will" and feign noble intent but still be as the basest alley thug when push comes to shove...reinforces my opinion of sentient beings.

Honor is a luxury cast off for the realization of desires or necessities not otherwise attainable. The base state of sentients is not how noble they are most of the time. This is the rouge they wear in order to convince eachother that they're not all on the brink of mayhem. No, the true state of a sentient is only visible at their most desperate moments when they are revealed for the scrabbling, moral free beasts they truly are.

All this I accept without derision. It is a fact, there is no hating that which is inevitable. The problem of self awareness is imagination. They heap on pleasing falsehoods in order to spare themselves the truth and strut as a colorful bird might assuring their fellow people that they are indeed the epitome of societal evolution.

I remain sickened of my fellow people that they would not see truth as the only morality. That they make it easy for me to justify ending them is their only redeeming quality.

Mar. 23rd, 2009


A letter to my Mother.

:he sits back in his chair, looking over at the fire Raging in the fireplace of his cottage, and then down to the table, where the parchment sits..lifting the quill he begins to write::


I don't know if you will read this, if you are even in Zoluren, or if you are even alive anymore. I have so much to tell you, 20 years worth of tellings, but it is hard to put all in a letter. I will try and sum it up as best I Can. Father is dead, his mind broke and he found comfort in drink, but not for long, and then went mad. I am sure that was not the easiest way to put it, but it is such, and I don't know of any other way to put it.

Myself, I am a Warrior Mage, and I feel I am beginning to make a name for myself. I am slowly progressing through the circles...I have paused in my achievements to become more rounded, and while I do not judge myself against the circles I have attained, I do look forward to the spells I will learn. But it is not an end all be all to my life.

::he pauses a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing writing::

On the Affairs of my soul and belief, I do not hold to the 13, and I am beginning to question the Pantheon as well. Well, I should say this is a recent development, I should clarify that up until about I was twenty-one or so I chased after Meraud blindly and without question. Since father told me nothing of my past, I had to seek answers to questions on my own, and as I studied, I began to realize that perhaps my faith in beings that I have not seen with my own eyes, and had to take on blind faith from others that exist...I just could not in good conscience continue on that path, and so I turned to the Albarian Gods and yet, they too are simply tales told, with no proof of their existence and so my faith in them is also low. I have faith now in those around me, especially one, my Wife.

You would like her I think, she is a strong Elven woman. Quite strong willed and never backs down from a good fight. Which can lead to interesting evenings at home. I have taken to calling a young Halfling lass daughter, she is a good one as well. Mischievous as the day is long, but good hearted, there is nothing I would not do for her as well.

I have a lot of questions for you, I am old enough to understand that sometimes people cannot live together, and given the chance would rather stab each other while they slept. But importantly, how could you simply walk away from me. I am not angry, more curious than anything else. Perhaps I will not get an answer to this question, but it is OK. It is asked.

If this letter does not find you Mother, and perhaps someone else reads this, I ask either if you knew Her or my Father, to please send me word if she is in good health or if she too has left this world,or to tell me of him, who he was before I was born... or to send this to her so she may read it.

With Respect,


:He read the letter over slowly as he let the ink dry, and then leaning down and scratching his cat, he sets the rolled up parchment on the ground and the cat delicately picks it up, and then runs off, heading in the Direction of River Crossing, where it then places the letter in the Foyer of the Clerics guild, where someone will find it.::

Mar. 19th, 2009


A letter to my Father

:he sits down on the ground outside of the Entrance to the South Tower in Shard, quietly contemplating the parchment he holds in his hand, and then taking a deep breath he begins to write...:


it has been a long time since I have stopped to think of you. My days have been filled with studying and fighting, and my Wife takes most of my attention as well from many things. You would like her, she is quite strong, I would have to say that if she were not around, I would be holed up in some tower somewhere reading a book as the dust covers not only the other tomes, but me as well.I have so many questions for you, those I asked and you never answered, and those I never asked but wanted to. It seemed I stopped asking, the day Mother left, and it seemed you stopped caring as well. I wish I could change the past. Had I been old enough, to perhaps step in, perhaps things would have been different. But I ask you now, knowing you cannot answer...Were We Gorbesh...were we Kaldar? Why did we come here, were we refugees? Were you part of the Main army? Who are we, do we have family in Albaria? Do I have family here I have not met?

::he sits there a moment staring at the parchment for a moment, thinking well if you were ever going to say how your feel, it may as well be now...::

I hate you Father. I hate the fact that you hid in a bottle from the day Mom left until the day you fell. I hate the fact that you did not tell me of our family or our past, that you have withheld this knowledge from me. I curse you for it, when I am around other Kaldar or Gorbesh, I feel out of place, as if I do not belong. Why could you not tell me anything, why do I have sneak about searching libraries for what ever information I can glean? I love you to though. You taught me how to use a sword when I could barely hold it, and you encouraged me to ask questions, even if you would not answer the ones I posed to you. You even taught me about devotion, I know it tore you apart when Mom left, but I am still here...and I still feel the emptiness in my heart as well from her leaving.

Goodbye Father...May you find peace where ever you are..and know one day...not soon, I will join you, and then perhaps you can answer the questions I have for you.

Your Faithful son,

:he takes a long deep breath, then exhales it slowly, before getting his talisman, and summoning his familiar. Setting the parchment down on the ground, he commands the cat to pick it up, and he sends the cat off to find a random person..while it travels he dismisses it...both cat and parchment return to the void, and perhaps his father will see this letter...::

ooc: I have been contemplating how and what I can do with my character to make these mid levels a bit more bearable, and since he is closing slowly in on his 30's age wise, I thought perhaps now would be a good time to do a bit of soul searching and add a bit of color to him. While in reality no one would have seen this letter except for him, I thought I would share it, and if you liked it, thank you. If you spend time on the islands, and perhaps join in or incorporate yourselves in some way, (his mother is not dead, just had a bit of a fight with his father, and ducked out, so she is around, also, if there are some Gorbesh or Kaldar out there who would be willing to perhaps share a bit of his family history, I would welcome that as well) you are by all means welcome,I would also take some advice and constructive criticism as well, since I am always looking to improve on what I have and what I am doing.

Mar. 13th, 2009


In the beginning

I had a dream tonight.

The city was dark, or maybe the skies above it made it so.  Whatever the truth the locals seem to cherish it, with even the brightest garbing themselves in shadows the way you or I would in... hmm... I can’t seem to remember.

I was not myself, or at least I couldn't remember who myself was, and slowly I would recall: my eyes, my skin, my hair, and even my Name.  It sounds strange somehow but I know it to be right.  If the gods themselves ask for it, it must be valuable.  Should keep it.

I was a swordsman?  Armed and armoured, deployed in a city of warriors.  Some of them even human, which seemed distasteful, though I am not sure why now.  My blade dance was unremarkable, perhaps a lighter blade is in order.  The rats laughed at me, but at least they cared.  Most others went about their business.

A peculiar thief called me mute.  He vanished from sight, dissolving into the shadows, and quietly laughed at the helpless shopkeeper.  Perhaps they are warrior clowns all, the ones at the asylum more so than the others.  They laugh and sing at the bleeding and the dying, flirting with death, and to keep the joke going no-one dies there, despite the jugglers putting on a show to lead them into the afterlife with a smile.  Perhaps it was a madness, not a dream, for I too was in the asylum with them, walking in and out freely through the double doors, to be joyful, startled, and even healed.

She had a look somewhere between kindness and hunger as she took my wounds, gathering them into herself like a loving mother.  I paid her tribute like I have seen from the others, and the show went on.  I even found a class in the asylum.  I sat in to listen, and the teacher didn’t seem to mind.  There was much to learn in this town, and I set out to see things their way, to move like them.  The rats still laughed, but I could kill them for it.  It felt comforting somehow.

If I don’t speak to them perhaps they won’t be real.

Mar. 12th, 2009




I always forget how peaceful Ratha tends to be. Hibarnhvidar has its charms, but there is nothing quite as peaceful to my soul as sitting watching the stars over the sea. It was also nice to see several friends whom I have not seen for several months since the winds called me to travel west to the mainland.

I have seen many wonders lately. I have stood the night watch above the Gear Gate at Raven's Point, watching foreigners huddle in its shadow before the dawn. I have stood with others clearing the road from Langenfirth to Theren Keep from the undead. The warm yet crisp beezes on the Trabe Plateau have ruffled my hair. I have seen tens of people answer the Handmaiden of Ilithi's call, raising the goodly spirits to bolster the forces of life at at old Gorbesh Fortress south of Shard. And I have seen the sun set over the sea of Reshalia.

Soon I must return to the mainland and Forfedhdar with dark and pressing questions upon my mind. But for the next week I will rest and relax, enjoying the last hints of fall, before winter returns as I head west into the Himineldar Shel where winter already begins to draw tight.


Mar. 10th, 2009



(A crosspost from my journal)
I've come to the desert to find peace with myself and calm the storm that surges within me. Is it wise to try and supress any of your emotions? My gut tells me no, and at times..it doesn't even seem an option.

I spent the day under Selinthesa going over some key points in Bardic history when a novice ran in with a slight panic, complaining that the slavers were once again getting too close to the city walls. The guild leader closed her tome gently and nodded in my direction, which I took to mean to take care of the problem. Muspar'i is not a city heavily invested in arms, it has always been the might of the Bards and the Warrior Mage's who have protected her city walls. So I slipped off my uaro's'sugi and fastened my balaclava and walked toward the gate. Gripping the polished sana'ati of my quarterstaff in one hand and the pivuh-hide grip of my witch's blade in the other, I felt the Hag take over and I knew it would be that much worse.

Nets flew all around me, and nimbly I was able to dodge each and every one.  I lowered my eyes for the briefest moment and called out to the elements. A twitching pull of the nerves curled my lips up into a wicked smile as the air around me grew warm and flickers of flame appeared all around me. Immediatly I began to parry and twist, escaping the hammers and axes of the slavers by merely inches. As I began to take hold of my footing, I began to swing my staff around and bring down my witch's blade.

Flames licked the ground and began to crawl across the flesh and armor of the slaver's, whose images wavered in the heat of the intensity. A whirlwind of flame, staff and blade. A feat of destruction as the slavers fell before me, staining the hem of my toga and the darkened steel of my blade with their blood. It used to surprise me hearing the story of how Kahishu shook the forces of the Dragon Priests by himself in front of these great gates, but now I see what a Bard with a fierce determination and prodigous skill can do.

As the last slaver fell and many more retreated into the Velaka, I calmed my voice and wiped the sweat from my brow. Removing the balaclava from my head, I let my hair be whipped around by the fierce Velakan winds and let my mind ponder what had just happened.

I just helped defend my home, at my guild leader's instruction. But does Albreda shed a tear at the slayings? I must sit and contemplate this some more.


And still, I find my personal contemplations selfish. Word has reached us in the Velaka about foul sorceries in the South, and yet I am too determined to leave my now home. I would rather be here to defend, lest that foul stench made it's way across the mighty expanse of the desert.

Mar. 4th, 2009



The Dwarven Nations

In the region between Therengia and Forfedhdar lies the Arncharn Shel or “Ironstar Mountains”. The Arncharn Shel is home to the Dwarven Kingdom of Kwarlog. Kwarlog was founded in 1859 BL, and the Kingdom was considered the only expansionistic dwarven nation. After 1000 BL, and the ending of the Elven-Human War, Kwarlog expanded north to the Gemfire Mountains surrounding Velaka. Two expeditions into Velaka, from the new city of Hvaral were unsuccessful. Hvaral was abandoned by the dwarves in 63 AV, and is now held by Therengia.

Fall, Year 393.

At long last I have begun to consolidate information about the history and nations of the dwarves for a non-Dwarven audience. The first part, the outline and basic history is below.


The Kingdom of Rendstaan was in the Journelai Shel between Zoluren and Therengia. It gradually faded beginning with the death of King Heksoch around 990 BL, with the kingdom fully abandoned by 535 BL. Internecine violence led to the non-partisans fleeing to Kwarlog.

Stone Clan is the small successor to Rendstaan, having been founded by a portion of Rendstaan’s army that had left for Imperial service. The halls were opened in 500 BL.

West of Zoluren and Ilithi are the Himineldar Shel or “Skyfire Mountains”. They are home to the dwarven nation centered at the capitol of Forfedhdar, Hibarnhvidar and the outposts of Ain Ghazal and Raven’s Point.

Astride the Dragon Spine Mountains once was the Iron Kingdom centered at the capitol Garnedhren. Iron Clan settlements first began in 3150 BL, with Garnedhren’s construction starting in 3048 BL. The city was built jointly with the Mountain Elves for aid rendered. In 2649 BL the kingdom fell to Morganae and was renamed Elamiri.

South of Ilithi are the ruins of High Hold and the Kingdom of Adamantia, high in the Hiimarhand Shel. High Hold was the first dwarven city and it lasted several millennia. No army ever conquered High Hold, until the creation of the Dark Hand by the Dragon Priests in 195 BL which led to High Hold’s isolation. It was eventually abandoned in 158 BL and the surviving dwarves joined Hibarnhvidar or Kwarlog.

Mar. 2nd, 2009


9th day of the 7th month of Moliko the Balance, in the year of the Bronze Wyvern.

After many years, I have decided it is time, and to help myself keep up with everything that is occurring in my life, I thought it best to write them down lest I forget, which has been known to happen.

So, here I am in Ratha, sitting at a table at Kygar's pub, eating some of their popped corn, drinking some ale, and throwing darts, and basically doing what ever I can possibly to to avoid doing what I should do.  I will attempt to not bore whomeever stumbles on this journal, as this is more for my benifit than anything else.  I suppose I should try and sort out my own childhood first... My Father was Kaldar, and a Bard, not well reknown, but then again he wasnt unknown either.  My mother was Elven, and a Cleric.  Not the most logical pair you would think, but there could be other more interesting pairings, like a Thief and a Paladin...I am wandering...To the point at hand.  My father, being who he was, and as charming as he was, caused my mother to fall in love with him, or at least dally with him for a time.  I was the result of that pairing.  I do not remember much about her, she and my father had a horrific fight when I was young, and an empath was needed. On both sides.  That night, my mother had filled a few sacks with what ever she thought she may have needed, and slipped out, I never saw her again.  Being raised by my father was not all that horrible though, I still missed my mother...I still miss my mother to this day.  Dad taught me how to fight, and while I could not carry a tune in a bucket, I did have an affinity to magic, and so through many meetings I was introduced to the Warrior Mage guild leader in Crossing, Gauthus.  My days were filled with learning many things, how to fight, and how to sense the elemental mana around me, I saw less and less of my father, that is until the town guards would come to the house either escorting him home, or summoning me to carry him home from jail where he had slept off the prior nights libations.  

The drinking was more often, until it came to the point where he had few sober moments if any during the day or night, as much as I loved my father, I could not bear to see him this way, and on my 18th birthday I to slipped out of the house and made my way to the Tower.  Gauthus welcomed me, and begain my training in earnest.   One day while I was in the Targetted Range, a messenger approached me, He spoke to me of my father.  He had gone down the mineshaft near the Reavers, wearing nothing but a loincloth, and using a pot lid and an eating knife, he had attempted to fight those vile creatures.  The could not tell if he had been thrown, jumped or if he had been so drunk that he fell, but they found his body at the bottem of the mine shaft.  I was unsure how to take it, the situation itself was so comical, I had to laugh, and even to this day I still laugh.  I find it hard to believe that my father is gone now, Walked the Starry Road. He was a strong man, and proud, but perhaps the loss of my mother, and then my abandoning him, cause his fall as well.  Did I have a hand in pushing him down the mine shaft?

I put those thoughts out of my mind, and focused on my training, the first few circles flew by, and I begain to wander about, leaving the Crossings for the first time, and I headed north to Riverhaven.  I stayed there for a little while and returned back to Crossing.  I met some very interesting people, but one person I did meet, was my Sister.  Bethney, She was a Bardess, interesting how fate weaves things.  She was married to an Empath, Osakin, and they had a daughter Goswanna.  She of course was the Elder sister, she explained to me about our mother, and that she had been bonded to another, many years ago, but he had died in an Invasion long before I was born, and that our Mother had felt she must leave that home, and search for a new place to start fresh...hence My Father, and I .  

I must stop now, and Mention the Arcanum, because without that group, I would have never met my wife.  

I was yet under my 20th circle in the guild, more like an apprentice in that group, and they had me off here and there exploring this land, going on simple quests.  Expanding my mind, learning many things.  I was taking a long overdue and well earned break, Sitting outside the tower, when this Young Elven woman came up.  She was so beautiful it took my breath away, And still to this day I am in awe that one such as her would think to even dally with me, much less be bonded with me.  What can I say, I am a charmer like my Father.  The only difference is while Nyn and I have had our moments where I am sure she would want to cast some sort of spell at me, she has not, and for that I am thankful and love her even more than I thought I could.  She drives me to do more than I thought I could, to push myself and become something more.  Were I to leave her alone for a week, with nothing but my Familiar bringing her food and drink, she would not put her sword down long enough to nothing but sleep.  She is a Ferocious spirit, and then there is me, I Would love to bury my nose in a book, search for that one lost spell that everyone else has been looking for for years. Practice my magic until mana would burn holes in my robes. So she balances me, and I balance her.  

My hand is cramping and the light is poor here in this pub, I think I will continue this story later on. 

Feb. 27th, 2009



Shadows rising in the South

*the parchment is stained with water at places blurring the text.*

393 Years, in the 6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion, in the Year of the Bronze Wyvern.

I have left the Isles in all haste, word having reached the Isles via the last boat to dock here. As my last scroll, written nearly a year ago to this date, suggests, the foul perversion of the natural order is a plague upon us all. This threat has increased dramatically in recent weeks, something I have noticed through unusual activity in the constellation known as the Triquetra.

However, my fears were not confirmed until the courier arrived yesterday, bearing word that Shard was under repeated attack by hordes of undead led by a foul Adan’f necromancer. I travel now to Therengia seeking more information, as the Paladins and Clerics of the Keep there have long defied the undeath plaguing the realms.

I shall write more as I meet with the residents of Therenborough.


6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion.

The month now draws to a close and I have more disturbing information to write.

I arrived safely in Riverhaven and immediately sought travel farther west to reach Langenfirth. Having crossed the Lake, I began my travels north, and there I ran into undeath. The roads were contested by the undead. Fortunately such beings fell quickly beneath my hammer, and I was met by my old friend Tygor upon the road. He and I joined forces and fought through to the keep. Along the way we met several other travelers who were also fighting this menace. One was a lass I met long ago in Ratha, Redeth.

Arriving at the gates, Tygor and I found the militia had been called to arms and the keep isolated by raised drawbridge. At this point I took my leave to seek Solantir, for he was sure to know any activities that had occurred while I traveled.


6th Month of Arhat the Fire Lion.

Southwards to Shard I now travel. The threat is darkest there, though persistent rumors occur that the necromancer Xerasyth will bring his armies northward to the River Crossing, and perhaps to Riverhaven or Therengia. No more seems to have yet come from the undead armies that assaulted Therenborough while I was journeying there. I believe it was a feint to keep aid from traveling south.

Furthermore, word has reached the northern areas that Xerasyth, who was once a Adan’f is now a Skra’Mur. What dark arts could do such a thing are beyond my knowing, or desire to understand. Learning such a path will only lead to madness and decay.

I met with Solantir, and he told me that he spent time with the Paladins in their Keep learning from them and assisting them in some small manner during the attack. He said that it seemed Riverhaven fell under attack around the same time as Therenborough was attacked, but the details had not yet reached that far north. The militias in the area took the threat very seriously and it is why I travel south. I must see firsthand what is occurring and aid in what ways I might. If nothing else I must reach Forfhedar and talk with whomever I may, as it alone of the provinces I have yet to hear any word from. I worry that the Dragon Priests may have closed the passage overland through Raven’s Point, yet I must attempt to get through.

If word reaches there before I do, I must attempt to meet with and rally the dwarves against this threat. Such an army may help oppose any move by the Necromancers to strike father north, or at least delay them.

Kertigen protect those who fight this menace.

Signed by my hand.

Kraggur of the Tribes.

Feb. 18th, 2009



Today is 39th Uthmor, Bronze Wyvern, 393 AVL.

 Had a great chat with Kelvena as the sun was setting and rain was pouring.  As usual I'd missed some action with the adan'f stealing wood and metal from Steel Claw Clan.  I immediately thought these to be siege weapon components, but there was no real evidence for that.  We talked a little about the curse that supposedly keeps the adan'f in the woods south of the city.  I don't much understand it.  If it's supposed to keep them in the woods, or I guess "bind them to the woods" is a better way to say it, why can they just traipse around as they please killing and stealing?  I've heard Xerasyth wishes to break the curse so he can leave the woods, but he leaves the woods all the time!

It's to bad we can't get the clerics to reinforce the curse, make it stronger... I've seen and experienced the curse spells they cast, they must have some way of doing that.

Ah well I'm thinking to much, that's dangerous, not like I can do anything about any of this stuff.  Time to stash the pen and go kill some critters.

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