Tag: stellae illustris

#Lore24 – Entry #139 – Muckenmyre Month #18 – Secrets Beneath Swamp Drake Hold

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

The fetid scent of the swamp was heavy in the moist, vine-shrouded tunnel we found ourselves in.  Even the remarkable strength of the draconic construction couldn’t withstand the combined might of the swamp and time.  As we crept down the tunnel, I saw that it was lined with alcoves, each with a draconic visage carved into the walls at the rear of them, at least where the swamp hadn’t burst through or colonies of insects hadn’t nested.  Ahead, torchlight flickered, and the trio of voices grew louder, perhaps a hundred feet or so down from the stairs. 

I overheard some of their conversation, something about the significance of a particular statue in the next room, some laughter from the twins, sounds of exaggerated moaning and panting.  Easing toward the doorway, I crouched and eased myself out to peer inside the next chamber.  It was fairly large and rectangular, though the area off to the right was collapsed and partially flooded.  My quarry stood at far end on the opposite side of the big chamber, before a large, carved visage of a dragon, Charity leaning against Jaggedtusk, rubbing herself against him, while Chastity was pressing her ass against the sculpture, rubbing it and making the lewd noises as she squeezed her breasts. 

At least they were distracted, though there wasn’t much in the way of cover between them and us, and there was a good fifty feet of space between us.  If we just rushed out and tried to surprise them, it was very likely they’d have time to get a spell or two off.  Jaggedtusk had his axe resting on the floor, but leaned against its haft, so we’d have to contend with that as well. 

As Chastity rubbed her ass over the sculpture, there was a shifting of stone as something clicked loudly into place, and I held my breath, tensing to make a run out of the tunnel.  The twins laughed teasingly, both of them going to either side of the carving.  Working fast, they probed along the runes surrounding the dragon, then started pressing at the scales and horns of the draconic head.  There were more clicks, then a heavy sliding sound, a rumble of heavy, ancient machinery that vibrated the floor.  Then there was a hiss of escaping air, and the draconic visage split open, ancient doors sliding apart, revealing another stairwell descending even deeper. 

I looked to Satella, who had pressed herself close to me to watch the scene.  I nodded toward our prey, then back to the hall, asking for her opinion on how we should proceed.  With Jaggedtusk leading, one twin on either side, the trio descended into the newly revealed tunnel.  She shook her head, and eased back, motioning toward the tunnel that led to the surface.  In a low whisper, even though the trio were out of earshot by now, she said that we must help our comrades before giving chase, that we couldn’t risk the dangers that may lay beyond.  I nodded my agreement and so we made our way back to the upper level, bypassing the prisoners again, and slipping out into the courtyard again. 

I saw Jessiryn waiting and looking anxious and gave him the signal to start the attack.  I won’t spend overlong on the details; needless to say, by now, the bandits were getting drunk, and their lack of magical support meant that many died not knowing what hit them, while those that had any sense at all quickly surrendered, and we had only minor scrapes and bruises for our efforts.  The fight was over in minutes but took Satella and I nearly an hour to secure the survivors in a way that would ensure they gave us no trouble.  I kept an eye on the door to the jail frequently, but the missing trio didn’t make an appearance as we fought off the rest. 

Once we had the bandits taken care of, a dozen of them still alive, we left Abdel and Joseph behind to tend to the prisoners while the four of us chased after the primary prey. 

As we approached the recently revealed passageway, Augra was on edge, not liking the tight spacing her large frame would have to deal with.  Jessiryn and I led the way, while Satella took up the rear, as her eyesight was undoubtedly the worst amongst us being human.  There was a faint light coming from below, enough that I could at least see the end of the stairs, and so far, I couldn’t detect anything odd in the air other than a mustiness that reminded me of a tomb.  I mentioned this, and Satella advised us to be watchful for the restless dead, and of potential traps.  It was entirely possible that we would find our prey dead in a few short moments.  Still, I continued forward, intent upon my purpose.

#Lore24 – Entry #138 – Muckenmyre Month #17 – Against the Bandits

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

We approached Swamp Drake Hold once again, silent but for the faint rattle of the town guards’ weapons and armor.  Off in the darkness of the tall grasses, I could just hear the sound of movement, picked up the scent of a crocodile, heard the sound of flesh tearing from the body of one of the bandits Augra had downed earlier. 

The swamp wastes little time, it seems.

Our approach was masked by the continued celebration within the walls of the old fort, of music and laughter, though the twins’ pyrotechnics had since stopped.  Coming around to the side of the fort where Augra had earlier scouted, Satella and I eased along the mossy stone toward the old window that would be our entry point.  I eased myself up to peer over the smooth stone sill, keeping my ears low, and sought my quarry.  My tail twitched after a few moments; the twins were nowhere to be seen, nor was Jaggedtusk, the makeshift throne sitting empty as the bandits danced around and shared more of their ill-gotten drink. 

I had a scant few moments to assess the situation and hope that the twins would reappear before the attack was set to commence; Jessiryn and Abdel would open fire once they had climbed the walls.  I sniffed the air, picked up their scent trail mixed in amongst the smell of the many unwashed bodies, angling toward what we had identified as Jaggedtusk’s den.  Guessing what was likely underway, I thought then that perhaps we had actually received another blessing.  When I spotted Jessiryn atop the broken wall, readying his bow, I managed to meet his eye and quickly flashed elvish hand talk (something I had learned during my inquisitor training), indicating what I planned to do.  Surprise was clear upon his face at seeing what he’d likely assumed was something of an elvish secret, but after a moment, he nodded, and signed back that he had understood, easing back from the edge as he motioned Abdel to do the same.

Waiting for the right moment, when the bandits’ dancing had their line of sight mostly away from us, I slipped through the window and quickly ducked behind some water barrels and whispered to Satella to follow when the revelers had shifted away from us again.  Together we kept to the shadows at the edge of the fort and approached the leader’s den, the twins’ scents growing fresher.  I had expected to hear the trio in the throes of intense sex, but the den was strangely quiet, their trail leading beyond his den, toward the prison, and the two orcs standing guard at its doors.  I pondered what we would do for a few moments, then eased back into the shadows by one of the inner supporting walls, seeing Jessiryn crouched low in the darkness.  I flashed more hand talk to him, advising him to get ready to strike if my plan didn’t go as I’d hoped.

Once I had told Satella my plan, she simply nodded and prepared herself in the shadow-filled niche nearest to Jaggedtusk’s den, behind some recently looted crates.  Watching the two orcish guards a few moments more, I made my move, scurrying quickly on all fours from the shadows, lingering just long enough that my movements would be spotted, my tail lingering just a few heartbeats longer as I slipped by the boar hide covering doorway.  Surveying the room quickly, hearing heavy footsteps and muttered orcish approaching, I dove headlong into the pile of hides and furs that served as the chief’s bed, ignoring the sting of his strong scent mingling with that of the twins in my nose, the whole room heady with the scent of recent lovemaking. 

I barely had time enough to situate myself before the hide was pulled aside, one of the orc guards peering inside, his axe raised as he looked for whatever it was he’d seen enter the room.  His senses told him there was indeed something inside, and so he moved in, his companion coming up behind him, though he lingered at the doorway.  I dared not breathe as the orc moved carefully closer, trying to understand why he hadn’t seen the creature that had just came in.  From my position beneath the hides, I saw the shadow of Satella appear just behind the other orc, saw him stiffen has she delivered her nerve strike, momentarily paralyzing him, before she took hold of his head and gave a sharp twist. 

Hearing the crack of his companion’s neck bones, the orc looming near me turned, and at the same moment I threw aside the hides and was upon him, striking his throat with the edge of my hand with all the force I could muster, shattering his windpipe and any ability he had to call out in alarm.  Before he could do more than stagger, I delivered a full-bodied palm-strike straight into his nose, and as he staggered back, blood spraying, managed to grab hold of his head, wrenching it back and forth, getting the snap of bone; I let him fall limply to the floor and joined Satella by the door, waiting for the inevitable call of alert. 

But none came, though we waited for several moments longer.  Emboldened by our dealing with the guards, we drug their bodies to the bedding and hid them as best we could, then made our way silently toward the prison, eased the door open, and, seeing the way clear, moved inside.  I had perhaps expected Jaggedtusk and the twins to be doing something lewd with the prisoners, but to my surprise, they were nowhere in sight.  The prison was little more than a sizeable square room, with one corner containing a barred cell, and within it, a trio of women, shackled to the walls and floor, blindfolded, gagged, and naked.  Two were human, one was a mazoku, and, as Satella and I passed by the cell, none of them aware of our presence, I realized the mazoku was actually a rarer male as we passed and he shifted his position, though his body was every bit as shapely as a woman’s. 

But they were not our targets, not yet, and were fine as they were for now.  I led us onward, into the short hallway beyond, and saw stairs leading down, the faint flicker of torchlight visible below.  I paused at the top of the stairs, hearing muffled conversation drifting up from somewhere beneath us.  Intent upon my targets, I nodded to Satella and we crept down the stairs, into the dimly lit unknown that lay before us.

 

#Lore24 – Entry #137 – Muckenmyre Month #16 – Swamp Drake Hold

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

Though my primary targets were the twins, as a town marshal of Grimbridge, I was just as obligated to deal with the bandit threat and see them brought to justice alongside them, though the laws of the town stated that bandits, like pirates, were to be dealt with harshly unless they surrendered themselves for judgement.  Unlikely, given what I knew of bandits from the outskirts of the Empire; I doubted they were particularly different here.

Perhaps a hundred yards away from the nearest wall, at Jessiryn’s suggestion, I made heavy use of some of the plentiful mud to cover my skin, fur, and hair as he did; it would make it that much harder to be spotted, and my coloration would stand out, even to the less keen eyes of the human bandits, in the browns and greens that filled the area.  We had come to an outlying section of ancient collapsed stone, covered in moss and vines.  Augra had make quick work of a viper that had called the rubble home, snatching it up and tearing its head free as if it were nothing, and we made a makeshift hide using some additional moss and fallen branches to aid in concealing Satella, Abdel, and Joeseph while we scouted the old fort. 

With the general layout in mind, myself, Jessiryn, and Augra set out to locate and deal with any sentries, then see what we could gather about what was going on inside.  From the sound of things, the bandits were beginning a celebration of their successful raid on the caravan.  As we spread out and crept closer, I heard laughter and music start up, then saw flares of light fly into the sky, erupting low over the clearing in a multicolored pyrotechnic display, likely the work of the twins.  I could make out the well-worn draconic visages in the ancient stonework, even a few runes of draconic text as well, though it was far too decayed for me to have read it properly in the low light.

I came upon the first of the bandit watchers perhaps fifty feet from the old fort as he was pacing back and forth, his attention drawn to the celebration instead of his assigned duties.  When his gaze turned to another burst of magical light in the sky, I rose from the tall patch of swamp grass I’d been hiding in and brought him down silently, one hand over his mouth, then a quick twist and snap of bone, dragging him into the tall grass to conceal the body.  The next sentry was likewise distracted, and I dealt with him in kind.  I saw one bandit atop a section of the wall make his way toward the edge, drawn by something I didn’t hear or see, only to get an arrow through his throat before being pulled over the edge with nary a sound that could be heard over the party.

Making my way to the wall, I crept along its length to the makeshift gate that had been fashioned from logs and peered through the openings.  Indeed, the majority of the bandits were distracted by the twins, the blue- and red-skinned mazoku dancing around the big fire half-naked, magic sparkling around them as they danced to approving shouts of the bandits.  I counted a dozen of them, plus the leader, the orc named Jaggedtusk, who sat watching the dancers with great interest.  Another trio of bandits were off to one side, playing the lively tune on their fiddles and a flute.  The smell of unwashed bodies was strong, and I could discern there were other orcs about, for I picked up at least two different scents lingering besides that of the leader.

I watched in silence for a time, counting off the minutes in my head as the booze began to flow.  I spotted one of the other orcs making their way to the leader’s side, leaning down to say something to him.  Jaggedtusk laughed, shook his head, then went to the nearby roasting boars, tearing free a bloody chunk for himself, following it with a long draw from a dark bottle.  After about thirty minutes, I made my way back to the hide, meeting up with Augra and Jesiryn on the way.  He’d dealt with the one guard atop the wall, and she had dealt with two more, one of them an orc, and from their vantage points, had spotted another three amongst the bandits besides Jaggedtusk.  They filled in the details of the fort as best they could discern, indicating what was likely the storehouse for the stolen goods, the barracks, and the leader’s den.  It also appeared that the bandits had repurposed the old jail, and may have had at least two prisoners inside, perhaps more, women from what Augra had indicated she had heard. 

I reiterated the details of what I had learned of Charity and Chastity, and emphasized that they should be considered amongst the most dangerous of the bandits.  One well-placed spell could take out all of us, if their power hadn’t been exaggerated by the sailors and their previous displays.  I had originally intended on taking them alive, but if they’d thrown their lot in with the bandits, then they would suffer their fate as well, should the situation deem it necessary.  I could deal with them if I could catch them by surprise and my aim was true; arcanists cannot cast their spells without their voices or their arms, after all.  Though Satella was not as used to stealth as I, she was agile, and could make a decent effort to keep herself hidden, so we would prioritize the twins while the others dealt with the bandits.  Jessiryn and Abdel would get atop the walls and open up with their bows, and Augra and Joeseph would come in from either of the makeshift gates, while Satella and I would slip in and get as close to the twins as possible to neutralize them quickly.

The attack plan was solid, and thanks to Satella, we had received a blessing from Yurisaya, but as with most plans I have been involved with in my life, it would not  survive the first few moments of the attack.

#Lore24 – Entry #136 – Muckenmyre Month #15 – Into the Muckenmyre

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

Any scent trail that might have lingered was gone as we moved along the many marshy areas along the Crocodile Run, but Jessiryn seemed to know the area the bandits had described to us, keeping himself at the bow of the boat while Augra handled pushing us along with the long pole at the stern.  The areas off the Way were full of life, and I saw plenty of the titular crocodiles as we went along.  I did see a few indications of recent travel along the route, though I missed some that our keen-eyed rangers didn’t, usually scrapes along the many trees in the area or broken branches, even a few muddy footprints, perhaps where they had to kick off after their boats became stuck; the attack had come at night, and from the descriptions we had, most of the crew had been human.  Plus, they were likely distracted by their new allies.

I’m not good with casual conversations, so I had made no efforts to strike nay up with our new companions, but thankfully Satella had no such reservations, and tried to learn as much as she could of Jessiryn and Augra while we traveled.  I could tell some of her questions were refined from her interrogation training, but nobody else seemed to have picked up on it.  Still, Augra would not speak, and I began to wonder if she couldn’t, only grunting or making gestures, while Jessiryn handled the lengthier explanations.  Satella even had the town guards, Joeseph and Abdel, chatting before long.

Jessiryn had been part of the elvish army, tied to one of their Great Houses on this side of the world.  Elves were far more uncommon around the Empire, something to do with the lingering taint from the damage caused by the Cataclysm we kerryn caused in ancient times that can physically affect them, as I’ve been told.  He had been assigned to a scouting unit attached to a larger force that had bee set on reclaiming some wildland territory from the savage tribes of orcs, goblins, gnolls, and other ill-tempered humanoid races, but things had turned bad for them, the numbers they were facing much larger than they had counted on.  His unit had been overwhelmed, and many of them captured with little hope of surviving the orcs.  For whatever her reasons, Augra had saved him, initially claiming him as her prize for the night’s entertainments.  While the rest of her tribe were enjoying their dark festivities, she and him had made their escape.  They were both outcasts in some way or another, he tired of his people’s constant attempts at war, and her never truly fitting in amongst the orcs due to some amount of upbringing she had had amongst civilized people.  She’s apparently quite the talker once you get to know her, though the scowl she shot at him upon saying that may indicate otherwise. 

And so it was they had stuck together, living off the land and venturing wherever their whims took them, doing odd jobs here and there that made use of their skills, having come from the wildlands to the far northeast all the way to the swamps of the Muckenmyre.  Jessiryn admitted that they cared little for bandits themselves, having dealt with their fair share of them over the last couple of years, usually in the very roles they were taking on now. 

I was not entirely prepared for the questions that he asked of me, though, having thought I was perhaps beneath notice for the time being as I kept my senses trained on the swamps ahead of us.  He said he could guess Satella’s nature by her holy symbol and garb but stated that I was something of a puzzle, unlike other kerryn he’d encountered, either in the cities or roaming the spaces in between them.  I kept my explanations short, that I had been shipwrecked and wound up in Grimbridge, a slave of them Empire, now in a strange land.  He could tell there were big gaps in my story, of course, for I made little effort to hide them, but he didn’t press me to tell what I truly was, perhaps sensing my discomfort with the subject. 

It is something of a strange feeling to admit that I have grown disillusioned with my duties as a trainer of slaves, perhaps more so with my status as an inquisitor amongst them.  Having tasted what it means to be free these past weeks…I am honestly surprised that my mind would begin to change so quickly.  I still feel a great conflict within me…I still think often of my service to the Emperor and my duties within the Stellae Illustris, and wonder if I could honestly return to them now that I’ve tasted what it is like outside of his influence.  Before, the Empire was my entire world, and I never questioned anything that I was told or that I did, for it was simply the way things were. 

Now…now things have become greatly more complicated.

Our journey along the Crocodile Run lasted perhaps three or four hours, and as evening shadows began to lengthen, Jessiryn had us pull into a moss-shrouded cove and tie off the boat.  Once we were ashore, he made a quick and crude map of the area ahead of us, with Augra grunting and making her own corrections when he had a detail wrong.  We would likely start encountering bandit lookouts soon, for we were perhaps half a mile overland to their hideout, a particular area of the Muckenmyre where there was a decent amount of solid ground amongst the ruins of an ancient city that had not fully sank into the swamp, even a fairly well-preserved fortification known as Swamp Drake Hold.  The bandits Satella and I had spoken to had mentioned old buildings and ancient walls but had said nothing of it being an ancient fortification. 

Abdel said that he recalled hearing about the place a few times while growing up, said it had a bunch of dragon motifs about it, mostly worn down and hard to make out, but had never been there himself, though had a few cousins that had ventured out there a few times, though this was long before the bandits had apparently taken over.  It had been some years since bandits had made themselves known this close to Grimbridge, so having a place like that to use as a base made sense.

We would need to survey the area first before we could make any sort of plans about how to proceed with capturing our quarry, so we set off, making use of what light we had left, with Augra and Jessiryn leading the way, me close behind them, while Satella and the town guards followed a a bit behind us.  For all of her immense size, Augra moved through the overgrown swamp like a wraith, even managing to hide herself from me a few times as we went, even though I had her scent.

With darkness overtaking us, Jessiryn and I heard the first signs that we were upon the old fort, faint conversation ahead, though we had yet to spot any lookouts, and I smelled cooking boar meat on the breeze.  Now things would get dangerous.

#Lore24 – Entry #135 – Muckenmyre Month #14 – New Allies at the Wayfare Inn

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

I awoke about midday, still feeling as though I had been soundly beaten, but my wounds were noticeably less painful after having rested.  It was another unfamiliar room in which I found myself, though this one was…cozy, I suppose.  It wasn’t large, but had enough room for two beds, the second containing a sleeping Satella, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, neither matching, but both having seen quite a lot of use in their time.  The scent of the swamp, though heavy upon us, was lessened now that we were within the witch’s domain, and over it I smelled fresh bread and smoked meat, boar, if my nose wasn’t mistaken. 

I got out of bed as quietly as I could, biting down against the many pains in my body, and I let Satella rest as I slipped out of the room.  The narrow hall beyond had an ancient feel to it but was well maintained and clean.  The Witches of the Ways were adamant about providing travelers with pleasant stays if they simply followed the rules.  Coming to the end of the hall, I peered out of the window, saw the wagon and our horses, one of the guards leaning against his spear by a small outbuilding, likely where the two bandits had been kept.  Making my way downstairs, I came into the common room, saw another of the guards sitting at the bar, appearing to have just awoken himself, likely not used to hours of hard riding after his usual shift had ended.  Several of the injured survivors from the caravan sat around the room as well, nodding appreciatively to me as they saw me.

I was greeted momentarily by the proprietress, an older human woman by the name of Izel, who ushered me quickly and politely, yet quite insistently, to one of the tables, promising that a propre meal would do wonders for me.  She came off as very motherly, and as she went behind the bar, I heard her speaking to others, likely her children, who would help her run the inn.  Moments later she came out with a tray of sliced bread, butter and jam, hot tea, and a bottle of something I couldn’t immediately identify.  She advised me to drink the concoction first, assuring me that I’d feel much better once I’d done so.  When I asked what it was, she said that it was cummi berry juice; I was unfamiliar with the name, the berries apparently grew within the Muckenmyre, and as I examined it, found the mixture to be a slightly thick, whitish color that smelled similar to blueberries mixed with ginger and perhaps ginseng.  I drank it down, finding the flavor satisfactory, though rather salty, and within a few moments felt my pains beginning to ease, the bruises and cuts upon my body fading rapidly.  I began eating the bread and tea, having expected nothing else, but then I was brought a plateful of the boar meat and cooked vegetables and some local roots; I had thought to decline so much, but Izel insisted, saying that I was a “growing girl” and should eat up.

I am rather ashamed to say that I did not leave a single morsel behind, hadn’t realized I had been that hungry, though I suspect her healing potion might have had something to do with that.

As I finished up my meal, finding it quite pleasant and filling indeed, I spotted four people coming down the Way from the north, an older human man, whom I immediately figured on being Izel’s husband, and a younger man, obviously their son, each carrying bundles of firewood, and two others that were certainly not of the inn’s regular occupants.  The third was a half-elven man with a rugged look about him, wearing well-worn traveler’s garb in greens and browns, a bow secured over his shoulder, a sword on one hip, a full quiver on the other, carrying several large fish strung together in one hand, and a pair of opossums in the other.  The fourth was an absolute giant of a half-orc, standing at least seven feet tall, all battle-scarred muscled, carrying a pair of boars, one over each of her massive shoulders, clad in simple hides, a large axe bouncing on her back, a smaller one hanging from her belt.

They followed the husband and son around to the rear of the inn, the half-elf doing all the talking, seemingly friendly enough.  Recognizing rangers when I saw them, I headed outside into the warm and humid afternoon sun, checking with the guardsman on watch first before I ventured around back.  As they were busying themselves butchering the animals, I introduced myself to the rangers, again getting somewhat confused looks when I bowed to them, and explained the circumstances we found ourselves in, and that I would like to hire them on as guides through the swamp.  The half-elf introduced himself as Jessiryn, and his companion as Augra, though she merely grunted and continued field-stripping the boar, and upon his request, I gave him some more information about the nature of our hunt.  I excused myself politely once he had requested time for them to consider our request, and as I departed, could hear him talking to his partner, though she had yet to utter a word.

Satella and the other town guards were in the common room having their meal when I returned, and we discussed our options, having some of the surviving merchants join us to see what they wished to do.  Though most of their goods were taken, they still intended to reach Grimbridge and try to salvage what they could from the situation and perhaps get passage on a ship bound up the coast in lieu of traveling the Way again.  Most of the town guard would accompany them back to town, though another attack was unlikely, leaving two of them with Satella and myself to track the bandits and the twins.

Jessiryn approached our table then, and announced that he and Augra had decided to join our hunt.  Though they were fairly recent arrivals in the area themselves, they had been hunting the swamp enough to know the area well enough, and would very much like to offer their aid to Grimbridge and the traders. 

And so it was the six of us would depart the inn, having offered our payments to Izel for her kindness, that afternoon, taking the flatboat Jessiryn and Augra had with them, though it was a bit crowded with six of us aboard.  Still, the hunt was resumed, and our new companions would prove most capable during the coming days.

#Lore24 – Entry #134 – Muckenmyre Month #13 – Dangers Along the Way

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

Riding swiftly along the Way, we came upon an unexpected scene in the predawn gloom, that of a trade caravan, scattered, broken, and burning along the roadway.  It didn’t take me but a quick glance to determine that the traders had been attacked by a larger force.  I saw the bodies strewn about as we neared, obviously brigands, mixed with the caravan’s own, some still alive, though wounded. 

Though I wanted nothing more than to keep following my prey, their immediate trail ended at the battle site, the horse they had stolen laying near death amongst the carnage, their scents lost to the smell of death and burning wagons.  I saw the disgust in the faces of the town guard, and though Satella appeared outwardly serene, her face was devoid of its usual smile, and I could sense that she was inwardly quite angry at the scene.  So, as we approached, I gave the order to aid the survivors, and to be on the lookout for any swamp creatures that may have been attracted to the smell of the dead.  Though they never said it, I saw in the eyes of the men of the town guard that I had made the right call, that their lingering doubts about me were lessened. 

Many were dead, but several more were only wounded, the worst of these being tended to by Satella, though their pained screams as Yurisaya’s healing flowed into them were loud.  Still, I did what I could, taking on the lesser of the worst injuries myself, bearing the pain of their injruies as I had long been accustomed to.  We learned that the caravan master, among the first to die in the bandit attack, had set out early and with haste, intending to reach Grimbridge as the market opened, hoping to maximize their earnings with the locals before offering their wares to the ships coming into the port.  They knew they were being followed soon after leaving the Wayfare Inn, and it wasn’t long before the bandits attacked; they had spotted scouts from the same group as they approached the inn the previous evening, but none were bold enough to tempt the fates by attacking the group within the witch’s domain. 

Not long after the fighting began, the twins had shown up, riding into the fray and leaping from their dying horses, hurling spells indiscriminately, intent on taking fresh horses.  The bandit leader, an orc going by Jaggedtusk, was quick to offer them a cut of the profits if they joined their group, as there would be plenty to go around since his band was now a few members shorter.  Grabbing up what goods they could, the bandits and the twins disappeared into the Muckenmyre via the Crocodile Run and some well-concealed flatboats they’d had hidden near to the Way.

Luckily for us, there were bandits who had survived as well.  Unluckily for them, there were two very well-trained torturers in my group.  Though I keenly felt the many wounds I had taken upon myself, and Satella was out of healing magics, my purpose remained clear, and I did not hesitate in getting all the information I could out of them.  It didn’t take much coercion, for the will of a bandit is a weak one.  By the time we had finished our task, the town guard had managed to get one wagon upright and had hitched their horses to it, and we made the decision to continue to the Wayfare Inn, an hour or so ahead, to rest and consider our next course of action, the surviving bandits bound and made to walk along behind the wagon of the wounded.

Satella and I had learned of the bandit gang’s numbers and the location of the hideout, but it would mean little without someone to guide us there, for neither of us were familiar with the depths of the swamp, and both of us needed rest, me more than her, as did the town’s guards.  I gave my horse to some of the wounded to use, and rode behind Satella to the inn, every step growing more excruciating as we went, even though the depth of the wounds I had taken upon myself were not life threatening.

I can barely remember reaching the Wayfare Inn, can only really recall the change in the air as we crossed into the witch’s domain, then the canopy tree tunnel opening up as we came out into the clearing around the inn itself. 

I’m ashamed to admit that my stamina had given out, and that I had to be carried into bed once again.

#Lore24 – Entry #133 – Muckenmyre Month #12 – The Grimbridge Way

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris, Town Marshal of Grimbridge.

Riding forth from Grimbridge for the first time filled me with conflicting thoughts and emotions.  I was intent on capturing the troublemakers, my goal could really have been no clearer.  Though hours had passed since they had ridden out of the town gates, I could still discern their scent well enough to follow them.  Yet, even with Satella riding near, and the members of the town guard who had so willingly joined up and under my leadership, I felt an unexpected sense of melancholy at leaving the town that I had spent my life in for the past few weeks.  I have never been one to easily grow attached to anyone or any particular place given what I have been trained to become, but nonetheless, these emotions were there. 

As we grew further from Grimbridge, I could sense the unease of the town guard growing.  Night in the Muckenmyre, as I was told, was a dangerous time, though the Grimbridge Way was generally considered safe.  By the time we set out, everyone had found a place to shelter for the night, either in town or the handful of nearby farms.  It was during this first ride out of town that I first saw the Witch Lights that lined the roadway at regular intervals.  These are magical lanterns, tended to by the Wayfare Witches that called this area home, giving off a pale bluish-white light, warding off the most dangerous of creatures that called the swamps home.  As the light evening fog came in, the Witch Lights proved to have a most eerie quality about them.  On the one hand, they clearly marked the Way, though it would be difficult for one to become lost given the raised nature of the road, and the way the thick growth of trees, full of their hanging mosses, along its sides rose up and encased the road, like a dark, twisted tunnel overhead.  On the other hand, with the sounds of the night coming alive, and the many new sounds and scents I encountered as we rode, I could not help but feel slightly overwhelmed; there were things lurking just beyond those lights that I could not identify but could clearly understand were dangerous.

I inquired with Satella and the guardsmen as to what the lay of the land was as we came upon a crossroads, a pair of smaller, less well-traveled roads venturing off from the Way and out of the safety of the Witch Lights.  Our quarry had not gone down either of these paths, but the information could prove useful nonetheless.  Both ways led to farmland, smaller outlying villages that were mostly composed of families that had called the swamps home for generations, though they usually relied upon flatboats when coming into town, so the roadways were lightly used.  We were some hours yet from the first of the Wayfare Houses along the Way, one of the traveler’s rests maintained by the Witches, each placed about a day’s travel apart from one another.

Pausing just beyond the crossroads to consider the trail, to discern the hoof prints in the damp soil of the roadway, I asked about local landmarks and possible hiding places should the twins venture off the Way.  Even the guards who had grown up on the local farms before coming to live in the town were wary of the Muckenmyre, and explained that anyone who wasn’t born of the area would be lucky to find the various spots they described to me, which usually were certain ancient trees, nesting areas for animals, or small communities of more reclusive and often hostile humanoids, usually lizardmen and kobolds.  There was a place marked by a particular rock formation called the Witch’s Table somewhere out there, though they were reluctant to say more, and even uttered prayers upon mentioning it, so I reasoned that this wasn’t associated with the Wayfare Witches.  Far deeper into the mire, there was an area known as the Devil’s Armpit, though it was filled with toxic gasses and unpleasant, dangerous creatures.  There had been a several instances over the years where bandit groups had hid out in the swamp, so there were scattered spots that could be made livable, and were possibly in use even now, one being the wreck of an ocean-going ship that had somehow wound up deep in the swamp, likely during a hurricane. 

Though unlikely that the twins would know the area well enough to be aware of any of them, it was nonetheless potentially useful knowledge.  By this time, I had clearly marked the tracks we were to follow using some of the magic I had been taught; with my spell in place, I could see the hoof prints along the road glowing in a golden light, leading onward down the dark tunnel of the Way.  I mounted once again and started following, though I had discerned an additional detail in their trail which I relayed to my party then.  Given the spacing of the hoof prints since we’d set out from town, it seemed the twins were pushing their horses hard, and were likely, if they were perhaps smarter than they seemed, using magic to enhance their mounts’ stamina, otherwise they would certainly have to have rested them this far along.

This would not be quite as simple a task as it first appeared, but that was no discouragement to me.  I had tracked my targets for weeks on end before, though now I did not have to worry about blending in amongst the other kerryn as I did so, didn’t have to rely upon other Inquisitors to tend my leash.  I felt a strange exhilaration at this thought.  If the twins were using magic as they ran, then they too would have to rest eventually, for no arcanist’s power would last forever, and they had already used up several spells when fleeing town.  Would they make it to the Wayfare House to rest, or would they try to push onward, dead set for the city that lay beyond the Muckenmyre perhaps, or did they have another destination in mind?

As dawn approached, I smelled smoke in the air and spotted the glow of fire in the trees ahead of us before my human companions did.  Having rested our horses along the way, though no doubt my companions were beginning to feel fatigued, we nonetheless spurred our mounts forward, and I felt the rush of the hunt fill me.

#Lore24 – Entry #132 – Muckenmyre Month #11 – The Twin Twats from Tempest Tor

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

Quite the colorful phrasing, that, I must admit.  I suppose it’s fitting enough considering the name of the bar itself.

Though Blackjaw had described their skin as different colors, he insisted that the pair indeed looked identical.  Such things are not unheard of, given the chaotic nature of mazoku blood.  As we spoke to him further, and some of the more cooperative sailors still lingering in the bar, we learned that their names were Charity and Chastity, though my instincts told me those names were certainly NOT accurate descriptions of their natures.  We learned that no insignificant amount of coin had gone missing from the sailors’ pockets, and it’s likely that the two had used some charm magic to stir up the rage as a distraction while they slipped out unnoticed, for there was already suspicion on where the coin had gone.

Once the mayor and I had departed the Bloated Floater, for Satella had stayed to tend to those we had injured, we learned that two mazoku had been spotted running down the Span, had snatched a couple of horses from some of the travelers visiting the city, and rode as fast as possible through the market and out of the gates and onto the Grimbridge Way, tossing a few spells as they went to clear the evening crowd out of their path.  I picked up on their scents even as we crossed the Span and surveyed the damage to the market; mazoku are as rare as kerryn in Grimbridge, and they have a very unique quality to their scent, born of their demonic blood, not unlike brimstone, flavored with, in this case, an elemental affinity.  Oddly, it was only then that I realized that I had not gotten such a scent from Ashelyr when I had met her that morning, only the scent of the swamp.

With the blessing of Mayor Pleasence, I began questioning the sailors at the docks, discovered which ship had brought the twins in, and began to form a picture of what they were truly like.  They were known troublemakers, having booked passage from a city called Taross, far to the east, and around the southern tip of the continent, on the run from the authorities there.  The captain professed that he had nearly thrown them overboard several times because of their constant disruptions with his crew, but each time had been convinced otherwise, cursing their persuasive abilities, which tended towards using their not-insignificant sexual talents.  They are trained in the arcane arts as well; the red-skinned one, Charity, or Char, prefers fire magic, while Chastity, Chas, the blue-skinned one, prefers ice magic, and both had displayed considerable skill with their talents, at least possessing the ability to create destructive balls of their preferred elements, another reason the captain had hesitated to toss them off his ship.  On reflection, he wishes that he had gone ahead and took the risk, for the generous sum they had paid him for their passage had been taken, along with most of his other funds, about the time they had docked in Grimbridge.

As to the colorful moniker Blackjaw had labeled them with, the sailors had heard it before, but could not tell me exactly where it had originated, only that Tempest Tor was a town in the far northeast with a reputation for producing disreputable sorts.  Apparently, Charity and Chastity had earned quite the reputation even before they had wound up in Taross looking for passage out of the region.

Whatever lead they had managed while I investigated them wouldn’t matter for long.  I had hunted many enemies of the Empire in my life, set on their trails with little else but their physical descriptions, if that, and eventually rooted them out in the end, so knowing more of the twins’ natures would make things much simpler.  I would see to it these two were brought in for whatever justice was deemed necessary. 

They would not escape me.

I was not entirely sure why I made this declaration to myself then, and later to the mayor and Satella.  Perhaps during my short time in Grimbridge, I had grown rather protective of the town that had shown me such kindness?  Perhaps it was just my belief that the law existed for a reason, and it should be respected and obeyed?  Perhaps my short time living outside the Empire had already tainted my mind?  Was this…living free, making a decision like that on my own?  Or was I just grasping at the familiar, trying to stick to what I knew best, perhaps in the hope of one day returning to serve my Emperor?

By now, it was well after sunset, and the town was abuzz with discussion about the disturbance to the usual calm.  I returned to Mayor Pleasence, who had convened the town council to discuss the disruption, and what steps were to be taken next.  I waited to be addressed beside Satella and several other residents, even a few visitors to the town, who had shown up to watch the proceedings, and once I had been called, gave them my report on what I had learned of my prey, for that is what I considered them now.  Constable Tamblyn seemed impressed with what information I had managed to collect in such a short time.  I made it clear that I would be involved in hunting them down, as I had their scent, and knew well how to track fugitives.  This caused something of a stir, and some of the less trusting of the council demanded an explanation, though the mayor quashed this, stating that now was not the time.

After some more discussion on the matter, it was decided that I, and Satella, when she volunteered to accompany me, would lead a group of volunteers from the town watch to apprehend the twins and bring them back to Grimbridge to face judgement.  As such, we would be granted a temporary position as town marshals and provided with horses and supplies for the hunt.  We were given instructions not to delve too deeply into the Muckenmyre if the twins went off the Way, for the swamp would handle them in its own way if they ventured too far out.

We were off within the hour following this.  It would be only a matter of time until the twins were found and captured; I had no doubts in myself or Satella in this.  I worried over the watch members more than myself; even though I was given the lead in this endeavor, they were now my responsibility, and that would constantly linger in my thoughts as we grew further from town.

#Lore24 – Entry #131 – Muckenmyre Month #10 – Harsh Discipline at The Bloated Floater

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

As I attempted to express the council’s lack of interest in the glassware to the merchant, there came shouts from the Bloated Floater.  Though I had not been to the dockside bar myself, I was aware of its reputation for being a place for sailors, and that it was not for the faint of heart; the owner, a dwarf by the name of Hafus Blackjaw, had something of a reputation involving his pet crocodiles, and though I was not privy to the details yet, I could certainly guess.  There were a larger than usual number of ships in the port this day, and as I would soon find out, some of the crews of these vessels were not on friendly terms. 

It was the crashing of wood, followed by a loud battle cry that drew our attention to the bar.  A moment later a dozen sailors ran out, and the sounds of broken glass, more snapping wood, and angry shouting followed.  A few more stragglers ran out, one with a bleeding head staggered out, only to be pulled back in by a muscular orcish arm.  The mayor commanded some of those gathered to seek out the constable and some of the town watch and hurried toward the bar.  I followed, though he tried to dissuade me from getting involved.  I shook my head and continued alongside him, a few other council members following us.  As kind as he had been to me, I would not allow harm to come to him if I could possibly stop it; it was my duty in a way, or at least, I considered it to be so.

Another bleeding man came crashing through a window as we approached, and the sound of battle within was intense.  The mayor called out for an immediate halt to the fight as he entered the front doors, but as I entered, I could see that there was little hope he’d even been heard, and none that anyone involved would have listened.  As Mayor Pleasence again tried to shout down the fury of two dozen drunken sailors, one of them hurled a bottle toward him. 

I reacted without thought, caught the bottle before any damage was done.  I heard one of the councilmen gasp in surprise.  In the next moment, I shoved him away from us while forcing the mayor aside as a tabletop was flung at us.  Though I felt little in the way of anger, I could see the mayor was outraged, and had already set himself to get involved.  Given the fact that I’d seen him practicing his swordplay several times now, it was hardly unexpected.  As I caught his eye, I nodded my understanding and led the way into the chaos; better to let them focus on me first.

It was my first battle in some time, and I was perhaps a bit out of practice despite the exercises I performed daily with Satella.  I only managed to disable three of the sailors during my initial attack, catching the first in a nerve cluster on his back with a strike that left him whimpering upon the floor, while I struck his companion with a kick that shattered his knee, while I caught the third with a flurry of quick strikes to disorient him, then landed a solid punch to his gut that had him doubled over on the floor.  I managed to deflect several poorly aimed strikes from fists and improvised weapons from others as I stepped back to provide cover for the mayor, caught a few blows myself, but the blows were hardly anything for me to worry about. 

The mayor was not skilled in the Arts as I am, but he was no stranger to brawling.  He dealt with several in his own way as I continued to provide cover and strike as opportunities permitted, leaving many broken bones and painful nerve strikes in my wake.  I probably took as many blows as I landed, none that were terribly serious, though, the worst being a broken rib as I stepped in front of an enraged orc and blocked a blow to the mayor’s head from the table leg he had been wielding as a club.  I then took it from him, struck a blow that knocked out several teeth, and proceeded to break both of his arms and one knee.  It has been my experience that orcs do not go down easily when angry, so one must be thorough, doubly so when they’re also drunk.

The fight had mostly left the remaining dozen or so sailors by this point; the arrival of the constable and a half dozen of the town watch helped settle their ire further as they looked upon the many disabled fighters on the bar’s floor.  Though I remained watchful, I had little doubt there would be further trouble as I gazed at them and watched them shrink away from my glare.  With the watch moving in to secure the troublemakers, I noticed that Satella had followed them, and had leaned in through the front door, smiling pleasantly as she took in the scene.  She came in, stepping over the destruction, atop one of the unlucky sailors who lay groaning on the floor, to my side. 

The mayor declined Satella’s offer to heal him, said that his wounds were not so serious, but I could tell he was nursing a broken rib of his own, and his head had a nasty gash from a broken bottle that I had not managed to intercept in time.  Feeling that I had failed in some way, knowing that allowing my charge to be wounded was not acceptable for a member of the Stellae Illustris, I nonetheless offered to heal him myself.  He was surprised that I had suggested it, as I hadn’t told him I possessed such abilities.  I assured him he would not feel the same agony as one would when healed by Yurisaya.  He agreed, and I placed one hand upon his torso, the other over his head wound, and called upon the magic I had been taught by the Stellae Illustris. 

It was indeed healing, of a sort.  I felt the skin on my brow tear open as if it was I who had been struck by the bottle, felt another two ribs break.  My vision blurred momentarily as his pain flowed into me, my breathing becoming labored, but I did not make a sound aside from a grunt.  The mayor seemed more disturbed by this than the prospect of Satella’s healing as I eased myself into a nearby seat.  The wounds would heal eventually, faster than natural healing, but it would still take a few days.

Satella had other ideas, though; she lay her hand upon my shoulder and uttered a healing prayer, and I felt the fiery healing of Yurisaya erupt through me.  I did gasp then, my broken ribs resetting themselves, my flesh feeling as though it was being flensed by a razor as it knitted together.  As the merciful agony began to fade, I thanked her, and as the mayor fixed me with a quizzical look, I assured him that I would answer any questions he had when there was time.

For now we picked ourselves up and spoke to Blackjaw about what had transpired within his bar.  He’d spent most of the brawl safely behind his bar, and was quite vocal about who was ultimately responsible for getting the sailors riled up:  “’Twas a pair of mazoku wenches, it was!  One of them red, the other blue, flirting with one man after another, using their damned demon charms on them, they did!  Wasn’t five minutes passed after they had shook their asses through my bar that the fighting started!  ‘Twas the twin twats from Tempest Tor!”

#Lore24 – Entry #130 – Muckenmyre Month #9 – The Many Labors in Grimbridge

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I threw myself into my labors during the following weeks, for with them, I was given purpose.  The mayor and Satella heartily approved, though she was adamant that I not overwork myself.  We would still find time, usually in the evenings, to share our practice sessions, and she would begin offering her services as a priestess to the town at large, though she would earn far more serving as cook at the Grimbridge Inn, for few were willing to suffer her healing unless it was truly a dire situation; I had found her healing quite pleasant, but I suppose I am one of the rare few that would.

I started humbly enough, with recommendations from the mayor to various other businesses within the town, hauling loads of cargo at the docks, or performing other simple jobs, such as cleaning and delivering messages.  Though the funds were meager, the coppers, and the occasional silver coins, I received were the most money I had ever personally owned.  I must admit a certain…excitement at having things to call my own, though for every such thought, I have many more screaming in my head that what I do is wrong, that I am a slave, that I should be handing such things to my master, for it is their money by right…and yet, I have no master but myself for the time being.  I still keep my broken collar and cuffs in immaculate shape, however, and think often of my Emperor but…but I must also admit that those thoughts are coming with greater difficulty each day. 

I wonder if perhaps I will one day forget to have them at all?  It’s a possibility that I find at once terrifying and yet feel a growing sense of elation at the prospect of it actually happening.  Can I be trusted with such freedoms?  Apparently kerryn are free in this land, and, as I’ve learned, many groups of them roam the countryside at their leisure, a wandering, nomadic lifestyle.  It seems so strange to me that such a thing is possible…my kind allowed to roam as they will, free of collars and leashes and those who they would call master.  I would call it madness, certainly, were I not beginning to understand what freedom was.  It is a dangerous time for my slave mind.

I would suddenly find my labors changing after a couple of weeks interacting with the townsfolk.  Though I had done simple work initially, it was discovered one day quite by chance that I am not only able to speak several languages, but I am also able to read and write them, and that I am able to handle basic mathematics.  As fate would have it, I found myself cleaning within Osmin Grassmane’s curiosity shop when a group of adventurers who had just arrived from the docks came in and began browsing his wares.  I remained as unobtrusive as I could, of course, as was proper, though I kept my ears open, for the adventurers were elves, and they were speaking their own language.  This wasn’t particularly abnormal, of course, but I caught on quickly to the derisive comments they made while seeming to look upon the goods approvingly.  I then heard one of them make a bet with the other that he could get Osmin to pay handsomely for an old, useless journal they’d plucked out of some ruin or another.  As I was his employee at the time, I took it upon myself to defend the store.  So, I moved quietly behind the counter, as if my cleaning were done, and stood behind Osmin as one of the elves approached, producing a battered, old leatherbound book.  He then proceeded to try and sell it as a great elvish wizard’s spellbook, sprinkling in many elvish words whose meanings were not what he passed them off as, and pointing to passages that spoke of mundane affairs of a merchant as if they were describing potent magical rituals.  Osmin obviously couldn’t read or understand the elvish speech and was being drawn into the lies.  Before talk of money could be started, I spoke up, pointing out the true nature of the book and the nature of the elves’ words and earlier comments.  As I displayed my familiarity with their language by speaking it and offering a translation of one of the passages, the adventurer grew angry with me, though Osmin was quite convinced and promptly expelled them from the store.  I would spend the rest of the day looking over various other documents and items he had collected over the years, identifying most of the text upon them, and for my aid in this, he was quite grateful, paying me the coppers for not only for my earlier cleaning, which I hadn’t actually finished, but a couple of silver coins as well.

I did not think such language skills were that uncommon, especially for merchants, as these were things taught to most kerryn slaves in the Empire, for we were expected to assist our masters in many aspects of life.  It is common that we are tasked with running their businesses or aiding in translations of documents and speech, singing songs from the various races in their native tongues, or any other number of tasks that require basic education in languages.  It is a burden we bear so that our masters do not have to, so it was quite startling to learn that many of the townsfolk here were not trained as I was, even merchants such as Osmin, who had taken over the business after his father had been killed in a pirate raid some years ago, and had simply been too trusting in the nature of adventurers. 

Word spreads fast in Grimbridge, for the next day I had multiple people seeking me for assistance in translating various documents they had obtained at some time or another, whether it was simple receipts or longer documents.  Most were true to their believed contents, which seemed to please their owners, while I did discover some that were either honest mistakes or willful deceptions in phrasing.  I would also discover some errors in the calculations on other documents, though I wasn’t tasked with doing so, I felt obligated to mention it, and so the day after that I was requested to begin reviewing various ledgers and such for the town’s council and other merchants.  Apparently, it had been some time since a proper barrister, sage, or scribe had been in town, and so it was a very odd series of days that I would spend in such roles, though I was sometimes called upon to provide my translation services when certain travelers came to town who did not deign to speak the common tongue.

I would find myself involved in such a translation one evening at the docks, near sunset, translating for a kobold merchant who had just arrived in port, trying to offload a shipment of finely crafted glassware more fit for a big city than the small town she found herself in, her first time at this particular port, apparently.  Certainly, there was no lack of enthusiasm from the kobold, though the mayor and merchant council were growing tired of her efforts.  The negotiation would be interrupted when a disturbance broke out at the Bloated Floater, and I would find myself revealing even more of myself than I had intended.