Becca's Journal

About nine years ago JimBob No-Neck started his fantasy campaign and I elected to run a half-elf ranger named Becca and her dog, Dragon. Not because I expecially dig elves, it was mostly because Himself flatly disallows half-elves in his game and I felt like I was getting away with something. At the beginning I kept Becca's journal, but after just a few sessions I was so confused by the whole scenario I lost track and gave it up. I struggled for a while, carping about the convoluted storylines and just plain nonsense that JimBob pulls out of his ass. But I wasn't going to give up, mainly because this was the only chance Himself has to be a player instead of the gamemaster. Finally I learned to check my brain at the door and just let the art flow, in a manner of speaking.

But here's Becca's aborted journal, chronicalling the earliest days of one of the most complicated, twisting, surreal mythos ever to exist outside of daytime television.

Notice also that this is where I first began referring to the resident authority figure as "himself", the name I now use for the boss of the house and the touchstone of my life, my dearly loved husband.

15 Bear—Papa always told me to be grateful for easy duty, but I’ve had a bellyful of lolling about waiting for an assignment. I’ve not yet been able to hook up with my new company, as they’re still presumed lost or trapped somewhere in the hills. I’m currently for trailing around through Irongate behind Drekwolf, who’s here to try to get some word of them. Not the tremendous honor one would expect—himself doesn’t bother with bodyguards so I’m more of a step-and-fetch-it. At this moment, for instance, Dragon and I are after cooling our heels on the steps of the Basilica of Deira while he politics inside. Even better, there’s an honor-guard of Kavadarian butt-monkeys not far away, oh-so stern and impressive. They positively glitter, even in the shade of the Basilica where they’re standing so splendidly at attention. From the looks of this lot I’m thinking himself is having to deal with no one less than High Priest Fergan inside and not likely to be in the best humor when he finally does emerge.

The Kavadarian knights have kept scrupulously to themselves, content to show their contempt for such as me with what are supposed to be withering glances, I’m sure. Scowl away, fellows. I’ll just sit here in the sun and out of the wind, scribbling and thinking cheering thoughts of how cold and heavy plate armor must be.

16 Bear—Himself has assigned me to another company, temporarily he says. This lot showed up at the Basilica today weeks overdue from their last assignment and telling a minstrel’s tale of bat-winged orcs and broken rubies. A new company he says, and not likely to become an old one I’m thinking. They hadn’t been in the Basilica but a few moments when one fool of a High Elf actually knocked an arrow when she caught sight of Fergan. I can’t find fault with the sentiment, mind you, but I suspect by the time himself is finished explaining her error to her she’ll be right wistful for one of the High Priest’s lighting bolts.

This is a small company indeed, only eight not counting Dragon and I. Nearer a squad actually. And no older campaigners such as himself is fond of mixing in. Odder still are two that don’t belong to Drekwolf’s mercenaries at all but are sticking close for reasons of their own, though neither looks to be too happy about it. One is a Deiran priestess, Ulsa, and the other an expressionless Wood Elf with the smell of the Undercity about him.

We’ve no officer, either, though everyone looks to an Arvian named Colwyn as leader. Worthy enough, I’m thinking, one of those as takes things altogether seriously. His partner is Lissa, a redheaded Varan with her nose in the air. She’s a puzzle, that one, more like a hothouse flower than a soldier. But I’ve met few spellcasters up to now and none a fire mage so I’m not one as could say what such is supposed to look like. Besides, himself has had the pair of them in training for a goodly time and he certainly knows what he’s about.

There’s yet another Varan, this one an earth mage with the name of Ergo. He looks as though if he had one wish he’d ask to be invisible. Dragon likes him, though. He’s the newest in the company after me and much more recent to Drekwolf’s employ. Again, not someone I would have pegged as a mercenary.

There’s a second High Elf, Teefa, who tells me she’s a mind mage and relation to the bright sprig who tried to draw on Fergan. She’s a quiet little thing and much more personable than her cousin Tyro. We’ll get on, I’m thinking.

Last is Garth, a ridiculously comely boy, hardly old enough to be out on his own but looks to be a rare hand with the glaive he carries. He laughs a lot, brags a lot, and annoys the elves so it’s hard not to take to him. We’re putting up at an inn near the Basilica until himself summons us, and the barmaids have come all over silly for this lad since the moment we arrived. Even the proprietor’s round little wife personally brought out a plate of sweetmeats after supper, ‘just a little recipe she was trying out’.

Did I say I’d not question himself’s wisdom in setting up this right group of babies? Well, I do. Does he plan to hook us up with some more experienced soldiers? There’s not a real veteran in the lot. Their first assignment was caravan duty to IronKeep and back but it was rare bollixed to hear the report. If himself has some special purpose in mind for us I hope to heaven we last long enough to learn what it is.

20 Bear—Drekwolf is keeping himself to himself, leaving us to our own devices. Colwyn has arranged for us to use the courtyard of the inn for sword practice, which I was glad to see. Besides being direfully needful it’s as good a way as is to learn about a person. Papa always said you can tell what you need to know from a man by the way he handles his weapons.

Colwyn’s swordplay is good, careful, deliberate, faster than you’d think to look at him, with an unexpected bit of flash every now and then—just like the man himself, I’m thinking. Garth strikes a body as all swagger and dazzle, both in manner and with his glaive unless you look close and see the real stuff beneath. Ulsa exults in swordwork like a prayer to her Goddess. Tyro holds herself aloof, at arm's length, just as the longbow she prefers keeps her at a distance from her target. The wood elf—who, by the way, hasn’t as yet offered his name, the others call him Raven but I’m after thinking its only because he has a raven clan tattoo on his face and they have to call him something--is all grim business. I can’t say if Papa’s words will hold true for the spellcasters as well—Lissa certainly seems quick, bright and hot-tempered. I imagine mind magic to be quiet and subtle like Teefa. I still know nothing about Ergo—he continues to be least-seen-less-heard but if I remember to look around for him he’s always there. Keeps his mouth shut and his eyes open, does that one.

What do they think of me? They none of them look to be resentful of himself plopping me into their midst, nor have any yet so much has muttered a ‘half-breed’ or ‘mongrel’ in my direction, not even the high elves. But neither have they been exactly warm, either—though I have to say they don’t look to be altogether devoted to each other, except for Colwyn and Lissa. I don’t see the same regard between comrades-in-arms as in Ranal’s company and that’s worrisome. Papa said, and I learned for myself in the last months, you can’t doubt the man at your back come a fight. But himself did say as this was a new company, only formed a few weeks ago, so it may be things will yet shake out properly.

22 Bear—finally a little excitement, if not exactly action. We’re all dossed in the common room of the inn—the elves aren’t for liking that a bit, I might add—when in the wee hours last night Garth up and leaps for the window, yelling like a house afire. Seems he woke up and saw something creeping through the room and out the window. When there was no one to be seen in the courtyard he decides the boogey must have headed for the roof and starts out the window after him. Except, of course, not being a lizard he falls into the courtyard instead and cracks his head bad enough to make it needful we rouse a healer for him. Only by the time we woke the innkeeper to open the door and let Garth back inside there wasn’t anyone in the inn who wasn’t already roused. The landlord and most of the guests are right put out with us, but the landlord’s wife and the various kitchen and barmaids are after hovering over the boy like a flock of mother hens. Dragon and I both took a look in the courtyard this morning and found no trace or spoor that didn’t belong there, so if we did have a visitor it grew wings and flew away. As much as I think the boy was having a nightmare, I’m off to have a talk with the landlord and see if I can’t convince him to let Dragon stay with me and not have to sleep in the stable. For the proper consideration, of course.

24 Bear—A very unquieting day and a tale for the minstrels. IronGate is a determinedly peaceful city—the saying is a virgin could walk naked safely through IronGate carrying a plateful of Deiran shillings. But this morning on our way to the Basilica we were ambushed, right in the middle of town, by a great lot of bravos as call themselves the Red Hand. They want Lissa, they say, and the rest of us won’t get hurt. They’re a frightsome sight, this crowd, and look to be chewing up the likes of us without breaking a sweat. But I’m after thinking such as wants a piece of one of us will have to deal with all of us, however fierce they be.

There were a clutch of them in the street ahead of us, and we’d just drawn even with a side street so there would be more coming out of there, sure as sure. I’m at the rear with Raven so we both turn to the two there. Just as I’m trying to spot any on the roofs without taking my eyes off the bullies afore me I hear Colwyn take exception to their offer. Here we go, I’m thinking, a short life but a merry one, when of a sudden I hear a thick sort of chunk sound behind me and Colwyn gives a kind of a grunt and falls. And then--nothing. None of my new companions move to aid their companions, not so much as a toe. I’m so dismayed I’m thinking to attack just out of sheer bloody-mindedness, but then the thought of getting my heart handed to me for the sake of this lot suddenly doesn’t appeal to me at all, at all.

Then the Red Hand are gone with Lissa leaving us in the middle of the street with our thumbs in our asses and Colwyn leaking out blood around what looks like a shovel with fletching that’s sticking clean through his chest--breastplate, breastbone, backplate and all. By now I’m not even surprised when no one mentions the possibility of following them.

Ergo does what he can to keep Colwyn from expiring on the spot, but he needs serious healing and the city guard need it brought to their attention there’s a group in town kidnapping citizens off the streets. Both of those can be done at the Basilica. And I’ve come all over anxious to have a work or two with himself—suddenly I’m for taking to the hills my own self to find my real outfit.

One thing about himself, he doesn’t waste time--and is someone as sees that no one around him does, either. Colwyn was on his feet double-quick and all for taking up the trail immediately. Himself agreed. “The ranger can track them from where you were attacked,” he says, nodding at me.

“Tracking a deer in the woods isn’t quite like trailing men--even a great handful of them-- down cobblestone streets in a big city.” I managed not to sound as sour as I felt—just.

“That section of the city is mostly empty these days. It’s used for the most part to house refugees during sieges. If you get back there quick enough likely no one else will have passed that way even yet.”

I gave that some thought, and some more to about how few ogres, dwarves and gnomes would be traveling in a pack even in a city like IronGate. I decided it might be I could track them—with the help of Dragon’s nose. The others looked to be downright eager to be off. About now I’m starting to think I’d judged them harsh back in the street, but still and all I lagged behind to have that word with himself about transferring.

“I’ve already told you that not fighting the Red Hand was the right decision. They would have killed you all and taken Lissa anyway. You’re alive to go after her, that’s what’s important. Being the toughest doesn’t count for nearly as much as being smartest.” How may times has Papa said just the same thing? I was getting right ashamed of myself but himself was only getting warmed up. “This is your company, soldier, until I say otherwise. I’m not running a social club and I’m not your pet uncle, no matter that your father and I served together. Now you go get my fire mage and bring her back and I’ll forget we had this conversation.”
By this time I’m just that happy to get away from him. Me and Dragon must have left the Basilica looking like we’d been shot from that Red Hand ogre’s bow.

Himself was right about tracking that lot, too. Dragon found a scent right off and followed it down that side street and around the next corner. A few steps after that we fetched up at a blank stone wall. After a little snuffling around Dragon let me know the trail had ended right there at the wall.

Garth lets out with some rude words I’ll not be repeating here and tells me Dragon must have been following a rat or something. Dragon was following the scent from the shaft we took out of Colwyn, I tell him, and add a few rude words of my own comparing my dog’s wits to his.

“There’s a hidden door,” says Raven, calm as you please. We just blinked at her. “I knew there was a gate to Undercity around here somewhere.”

“You knew that all this time and never said a word afore this?” I was already annoyed and didn’t even try to make my tone civil, but Raven didn’t so much as turn a hair.

“They said they were taking her for someone else. That’s just the sort of deal that’s best made in Undercity. I doubt whoever is behind this is as dangerous as the Red Hand, since they were willing to pay the gold to hire that bunch just to take her from us. Now we find out who’s got her and take her from them.”

That was the most I’d yet heard him speak all at once. I was that mad, I just stood there trying to find fault with what he was saying and getting more disgusted when I couldn’t. Ergo asked him if he could get us in but he just shrugged. “I said I knew of the door, not that I’d used it. There’ll be a switch hidden somewhere, I imagine.”

I stood back, as did Raven, while the others crept back and forth, up and down with their noses to the stones, pushing, pulling and twisting every bump and cranny in the wall. A right silly lot they looked, too, if I had been in the mood to laugh. Eventually someone found the switch and there was a muffled kind of click, then a section of the wall just a littler higher and wider than a man swung free.

We slid in through the narrow door, weapons ready and nerves tight. As I passed I looked just up over my head, about the height of a great hulking ogre’s armored shoulder. Sure enough, there were fresh scuffs on the stones. It must have been a tight fit for that one. I hoped he’d knocked his lumpy head going through.

We slunk down a tight stairway and found ourselves in a dark, empty little room. There were no Red Hand inside, lucky us. When we got some lanterns going we could see obvious tracks through the dust on the floor leading right up to a door with a stout lock. It turns out Garth has a unexpected and unsettling skill with locks that don’t belong to him. Colwyn sets us to be in the door and ready to fight in a blink, and we come pouring through in right good order. Unfortunately, there was no one on the other side to see us looking like we actually know what we’re about. Beyond was a narrow gallery sort of a room of worked stone with pillars marching down either side of a center aisle. The footprints in the dust showed us that those as we followed had passed through there, right enough.

We had traveled more than half the length of the room afore our lanterns showed us the far end where an archway opened onto another small room. A bit of paper was stuck to the wall with a dagger shoved through it into a crack in the mortar. It read ‘We left the package where we said. Leave the money where you said.’ Or something to that effect. The note hadn’t been there long--the crumbly mortar was already about to give way--so we were after thinking the ‘package’ was our Lissa.

The next room looked to be a dead end but Dragon went straight left and barked, telling me the trail once again fetched up at a seeming blank wall.

Colwyn asked me if I could tell whether anyone besides the Red Hand had been through there. I tell him the tracks match the number and size of the lot that ambushed us, no more, so I’m for thinking them as the note was left for haven’t been to read it. A couple of us start promoting a plan to wait out of sight in one of the empty buildings that gives us a view of the hidden door to the street, so as to spot anyone else that shows up and follow them to where Lissa’s been stashed.

Of a sudden Garth shushes us because he hears something on the far side of the wall opposite where we’d entered. We get quiet in a hurry, thinking it’s the Red Hand. After a few moments of listening there was no mistaking the sound of muffled shouting and the thumping of a pair of heels against the far side of the opposite wall. In about two shakes Colwyn found another damned secret switch then the wall opened onto a little alcove and out tumbled Lissa. She had heard Dragon bark and started the fuss that led us to her.

We weren’t for wasting any time celebrating. Colwyn sliced through the ropes holding Lissa quicker than quick, but afore we could up and out of there that blank left wall opens and in busts a troop bully-boys. It’s apparent right away that none of them are our playmates from the Red Hand, but they’re rough looking, right enough. Behind them comes a great ugly brute of a gnoll, and behind him pounces in a fancy boy in a velvet mask, no less.

My spirits picked right up. Here I’d piled up such a wicked foul mood and was in bad need of someone to wale on, and these lads just out and volunteer. I set my heart on crossing swords with that dog-faced villan, as anyone with sense will tell you there’s never been a gnoll born that didn’t need killing, but of course he lined his hirelings up to face us and stayed well behind them.

Colwyn naturally figures this lot are the ones come for Lissa and the exquisite in the mask their boss, so just as naturally decides that’s the man to start with. But Colwyn no more than unlimbers that alarming sword of his than the fancy boy vanishes into thin air, which is just exactly what you can expect from someone as hires gnolls to do his fighting.

As brawls go it was over in a right jig. We set about carving a way through the hired help, who obliged by dying just about as quick as they could. That motherless dog-face gave us more trouble and ended taking to his heels. Ulsa, Garth and I were all for lighting out after him but Colwyn stopped us—we’d got what we came for. And a good bit more as well, in the shape of one very dead fancy boy in the velvet mask. Our spell casters had managed to undo whatever magic he had been using that made him invisible and Raven had run a couple of feet of estock through his bowels, but I’m for thinking it was Colwyn’s sword cutting him near in half that did him in.

It only took a look to see this boyo was wearing more on his back than the likes of us could honest earn in a year. That, and his pretty weapons and soft hands told us plain as plain this is a nobleman. Which of course gave us a whole new problem—mainly, that no matter how much in the right we were, if it comes out we’ve scragged a noble we’re for getting hung and that’s the truth of it. Garth right off started going through the git’s pockets. Then Raven pulled off the mask and Lissa sort of choked and went white. She shoved Garth away and started yelling at us to leave everything alone.

I’m all for that idea. I tell Garth if he’s found with any of this toff’s gear on him then not even Drekwolf will be able to keep him from the hangman. Best to wrap up the body, loot and all, with some good heavy rocks I say, and drop him down some old well somewhere here in the deserted part of town.

“Absolutely not,” says Lissa. “We’re going to get him healed.”

“So he can bring evidence against us? Are you that crazed?” I snap back.

She’s clutching Colwyn’s arm now, trying to whisper something to him. She flicks me an odd sort of look. “He won’t do that.”

“And how would you be knowing that for certain?” I asked her, starting to get the littlest bit suspicious.

“I can’t tell you.”

There weren’t any of us too happy with that answer. She was as good as telling us that we were to do what she said just because she said it, and were to risk our necks without even getting the courtesy of an explanation why. And I recognized that in her voice what’s accustomed to being obeyed without thought of an argument, which right there was enough to get my back up. I look at the noble again and suddenly I get that crawly feeling that Papa says is your gut taking over when your wits haven’t caught up, telling you to get your head down quick. Whatever was going on wasn’t something I wanted any part of at all, at all—and that included leaving that git in any condition to be spreading his tale.

I could tell some of the others were having the same thoughts. Not all, but enough that I knew we could force the issue right there. Then I look over at Colwyn, who’s just standing there real still, not trying to order us to go along. “He won’t talk.” He says, quite-like. “I promise.”

But something still gnawing at me about the dead lad. Beyond his potential to cause us all a world of trouble, I mean. I knelt by his head and pulled the mask away for a better look at the delicate features. Why did it seem almost familiar? I'd never had truck with the silk-and-ermine crowd, and this boy was too obviously soft to have ever run with my sort. Why could I see in my mind's eye that mouth set in an unhappy pout, that nose lifted into the air as though avoiding the scent of common folk?

Then in a rush it came to me, and I peeped up once to Lissa to confirm it. Yep, there was that same heart-shaped face with it's pointed chin and narrow, aristocratic nose. Now I knew why Lissa was that determined to get him raised, and how she could be knowing that none of us would have to explain to the magistrates why he came to need raising in the first place. For a resemblance this close the two had to be cousins at least, possibly even brother and sister. It explained a deal as well about But instead of being an answer, the new fact meant a cartload of new and alarming questions all having to do with the politics of Varan nobility, which anyone can tell you is a dark, dark place indeed. The little hairs on the back of my neck were fair standing on end and the instinct to just up and take myself off to somewhere very far away was nearly overwhelming.

But it came to me, as we were facing off over that dead swell, that if we were ever going to be a real outfit like I’d been whinging about then it was going to have to start right there, at that moment. We’d have to throw in completely with Lissa--not because she compelled us to or even gave us a good enough reason to, but because she was one of ours and that’s after being part of taking care of your own.

I looked around that circle of faces, not for certain sure I wanted to be part of any outfit this lot would likely be. Lissa was white and strained, hanging to Colwyn like she was near collapsing. Tyro was wiping away a bit of splashed blood from a gauntlet, her thoughts plain as plain on her face—‘another dead human, where’s the rub?’ Beside her was Tipha, looking worried and a little dazed. Ulsa’s eyes went from the noble at our feet back to the open wall where the gnoll had disappeared. She looked right hungry, and for just a spit I was for chucking the whole mess and taking off down that hall with her. Raven was stone-faced and hard-eyed as usual. Garth was still crouched beside the body, hands twitching, like as not totting up the worth of gear and garb. Suddenly he peeps up at me and gives me this sort of a grin, and a shrug. Feckless boy. Ergo watched Lissa, his face still but his eyes sharp, and looked to be thinking quick and hard. But as I watched he slid a glance my way. When he saw me looking he gave me just the smallest, ever-so-slight nod of his head. He'd seen the same thing I had, and come to the same conclusions.

Last of all I look back across at Colwyn. I knew he’s the one as I could trust to the end, and I was after thinking the others were for feeling the same way. Was that enough faith to spread around to us all?

What the hell. I grinned and shrugged much as Garth had. “Dance with the ones as brought you, Papa says. You better be after being right, you two, or we’ll be doing our dancing at the end of a rope.” And everyone nodded to Colwyn, agreeing to let the two of them handle it as they would, whatever their purpose. We weren’t in any less of a bloody tight spot, but still and all I felt an odd bit of comfort.

Just then Dragon gives his ‘trouble’s coming’ growl and we begin hearing sounds of a big clutch of men coming up the corridor the gnoll had escaped into. I give the swell a nudge with my foot. “We’d best be getting him out of here, then.”

So we rolled the corpse up in his own cloak and hot-footed it for the street. When we were sure we weren’t for being chased we ducked into another empty building to work out a plan. The biggest questions were how to go about getting this toff raised from the dead, and how such as us would be able to pay for it.

“We’ll have to go to Drekwolf,” says Colwyn. He had the right of it, sure enough, but how to march a sincerely dead noble through the upright, law-abiding streets of IronGate? We need to hire a wagon, somebody said. Someone else figures we need a sheet or something, to hide that great bloody gash across his middle. Not a sheet, says I, a cloak. If any one asks we declare he’s our rowdy friend, so much the worse for drink that we’re seeing him safely home. Which is how we eventually reach the Basilica, and himself.

The Deiran Basilica is after being a huge place, and we took our wagon around to the courtyard at the entrance to the kitchens and storehouses. It was athrong with people but we pulled off to one side and everyone was too busy with their own coming and going to pay any heed to us. Still and all it was a tense three-quarters of an hour afore Colwyn and Lissa returned with the word that himself had agreed to help. He had directed the two of them to be taking the body to a particular entryway at the Basilica of the Timestians, and he would be arranging for what was needful. If anyone was after being curious why himself would be so ready to fall in with such an addled plan none spoke out.

Colwyn suggested we scatter, saying him and Lissa will get the wagon to the Timestians then meet the rest of us back at the inn. He hauls himself up on the seat to take the reins but I sit tight. I’m after sticking, I tell him, at least until our dead friend is in healers’ hands. ”Besides,” I say, “I’m the one as hired the wagon, and left all my coin as surety it’d be back afore nightfall. So stop arguing and let’s get rolling.” Behind us I catch sight of Ergo quietly climbing into the wagonbed and know he intends to see the matter through as well.

By this time our silent friend was after stiffening up, but we made it to the Timestians without catching anyone’s notice. Still and all I was right glad to see a smallish clutch of hooded priests waiting exactly where himself had directed us. They whisked the corpse off without a word. Lissa and Colwyn followed the priests into the Basilica, and as the door closed behind them I caught a look at Ergo’s face. He looked as though he’d give his left gnad to be going as well.

By the time he and I returned the wagon and got back to the inn Colwyn and Lissa were already there. The healing ‘took’, they told us, there wasn’t going to be any trouble, everything was taken care of. But that’s all either of them will say, and it isn’t after being nearly as reassuring as I could wish. Did himself pay the Timestions, or do we owe the Order our skins? How can even himself convince that noble git to keep his mouth shut?

I’m thinking it wouldn’t be a too much of a waste of time to go up and pack my gear. Just in case we’re obliged to leave IronGate yet this evening, sort of on the quick.

25 Bear—Himself has ordered us to travel with him to the Kavadarian Basilica. As anxious as I am to vacate IronGate, on the list of places a half-elf should avoid that one’s perilous close to the top. And I can’t even bear to think on the folly of taking a certain high elf member of our party into the Kavadarian stronghold. But aside from it being needful we take ourselves out of IronGate for a while, we’re to deliver a stolen letter to a certain Timestian high priestess who’s likely the only person around with the skill to read the cipher. And that priestess is currently assigned there, so there we must go.

This letter we’re carrying harks back to the yarn this outfit was after telling when I first hooked up with them. As the tale goes they were on their way back from IronKeep when they happen on a batch of goblins camped in front of big stone door in the side of a hill. Like any right-minded folk they attacked the goblins at daybreak and were fair to putting them out of their misery when out of the tent popped a big orc. This orc proceeded to cast magic if their tale is to be believed, and the handful of undead warriors he called up look to put an end to my soon-to-be companions. Then when things are about as bad as they could be the door into the hillside boomed open and out slithered this simply monstrous snake-thing. The orc was after being just as surprised as my lot, and right put out when the snake-thing attacked and smashed the undead soldiers quicker than quick. So then the orc took to his heels. Or to be more precise, his wings—enormous bat wings. Bat-winged, magic-using orcs defy everything a soldier learns about the filthy beasts.

I gather there were a few uncomfortable moments while the snake-thing considered crushing the party. To their relief it decided to introduce itself instead and commenced a story of being a guardian of a ‘gate’ between our world and another one, and being asleep for centuries until that orc was for casting the magic that disturbed it. It had never even seen a man, though it recognized elves when it saw them. And it was after warning them that there were 12 of these gates and if someone had learned to purposely open them it would be a BAD THING, cause what was on the other side wasn’t usually friendly.

The snake-thing took them inside the hill to see the gate he guarded. The key to the gates, he said, were ruby-colored crystals that were after being the twelve shards of a larger stone that was shattered. He told the party to journey until they located and collected the twelve crystals, reform the stone, and use it to shut the gates forever. However, he wasn’t for offering any useful advice on how to accomplish such. Then--though there was no attack made on any of them--my lot passed out to a man, colder than fish. Near as they can tell they slept in a heap by that gate for near 3 days.

After they came to Garth poked around the deserted goblin camp and in the orc’s tent found the ciphered letter that we’re now taking to the Timestian Priestess. Lissa found and picked up the chunk of ruby she wears on a chain now, which turns out to be the first of the twelve shards. It talks to her, she says. It will help them find the others, she says. Right. This is where I was ready to bail out, except himself looked to be taking this faradiddle seriously. Enough that he’s prepared to risk such as us in the heart of the Kavadarian stronghold.

What ever the reason, I’m that happy to be leaving IronGate behind. Even if it is to travel through the hills in the spring rains to present my half elf self at the Kavadarian Basilica.

10 Unicorn--Himself took his leave of us tonight, practically within sight of the walls of the stronghold. He has other fish to fry, he said. I’m for being just a wee bit distressed--I was sort of looking to him to keep those Kavadarians from turning me into coin purses and ladies gloves. He said we’ll be okay as long as the elves and I stay out of trouble and let the humans do all the talking. I hope those inside that city yonder are after feeling the same way. I plan to keep my hood up and my head down, none the less.

12 Unicorn--A whole day and no ones’ tried to skin me yet. A few ugly looks, but I learned to pay no heed to such years ago. We’re taking the precaution of dossing down in rooms in a boarding house, rather than the common room of an inn. It’s more expensive but eases the odds of something untoward happening.

Ulsa found a fellow Dieran, the local blacksmith, and will be his guest rather than stay in our rooms. I was a little goggle-eyed when the blacksmith and his crew turned out to be dwarves. Ulsa explained that the Order may be bigots but they’re soldiers first and foremost—and a soldier that wants the best arms and armor wants dwarves. That makes sense, though sense wasn’t a quality I would have credited a Kavadarian with afore this.

The Kavadarians call this their city though to my mind it’s more like an enormous armed camp with their Basilica glowering down over all of it. They’ve built this stronghold right on the frontier with the Badlands, but whether this is after being a first line of defense against marauding armies or simply to keep them conveniently near the orcs they’re bent on exterminating I can’t rightly say.

And the orcs are mighty close at hand, at that. In fact, having this fortress practically on their doorstep must drive the orcs mad, because we’re told they regularly bring themselves out of the surrounding hills to smash themselves against the walls. How long will it take, I wonder, before the stupid buggers realize this place is one big baited trap for their sort?

13 Unicorn—We went to the Basilica today to try and get an audience with the Priestess, but were turned away and told to try again tomorrow. She’s after being kept busy caring for Kavadarian knights who don’t know enough to come inside when it’s raining orc arrows, I imagine.

I hope we’re able to see the Timestian priestess soon, so we can get out of here quick as quick. Tyro is after being rigid with outrage at the idea she has to be ‘sponsored’ by a human or be given less worth than cattle. If Raven gets any more aloof he’ll right turn to stone. Even Tipha is coming all over distressed at the manners of some of the more zealous knights. Myself, I’m twitchy as a cat. True, I’m more accustomed to being a target for scorn, elf and human alike. But having villagers and tradesmen sneer at a body just isn’t the same as being in an entire city of armed men who’ve made a religion of hating you.

If we don’t get our business over soon and get this place behind us somebody is bound to end up killing somebody. I’m that determined neither of those somebodies will be me. But if something can go wrong it will, as Papa is fond of saying. One of these Kavadarian lads could take it into his head to get closer to his god by purging a couple of elves, and then where will we be?

14th Unicorn—Be careful what you wish for, Papa says. We did see the Priestess today, and we’ll certainly be leaving here.

Tomorrow we set out for the heart of the Badlands to dodge orc armies until we find a certain warren of goblin caves, where we’ll descend to the veryest bottom to scrape fungus off the walls, tra-la.

It suddenly comes to me, sticking with this lot is quick becoming one great tour of all the places I hadn’t ought, and fervently don’t want, to be.

But to start at the beginning, we got word early this morning that Her Worship would give us an audience today, so we brushed ourselves up and went to the Basilica to wait. About the middle of the afternoon a little priest comes along and leads us to a little antechamber and tells us to wait some more. After just a bit in comes the most serene woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. There was naught of her face or dress that was remarkable, but her eyes and voice and manner was all that is comfort and peace. Standing there, weaponless in the very heart of the Kavadarian fortress, I felt at ease for the first moment since coming in sight of the walls of this city.

Directly she went to Colwyn and put out a hand. Without a word he pulled the orc letter out of his surcoat and gave it to her. She studied it for a moment, murmuring, and suddenly it seemed I was for catching a glimpse of the words crawling around on the paper. She read for a moment then returned for lot of us to read. *

Her Worship naturally was after asking how we come to have such a letter, and the others told her the story of the bat-winged orc and the Guardian in the hill. She listened quietlike, then asked a couple of questions, like who carried the shard they’d found and if we’d found any others. Seems she believes the tale. It appears I’m fast becoming the only hold out.

Then comes the best part. One of the tenants of Timesta’s Order is that absolutely every service must be paid for, and payment for her translation of the orc’s letter will be for us to fetch her back a supply of the cave fungus she needs for her healing.

So we’re off tomorrow for about the only place I less want to be than here—the bottom of a goblin cave. It just keeps getting better.