Savage Tide: ECL 11 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 4: Journal 4

You know, I had basically reconstructed my memories and identity (as one does) after waking up in a demon's satchel in a cave with basically none of those (as one does); and it happened very quickly, so much so that I basically stopped writing any of them down so much as vaguely alluding to them in an inside-joke sort of way that only I would get (this being my diary, after all)...  If it was so easy to remember everything, well, the need to keep notes must not be as dire as I first thought, right?  But I find I kind of enjoy writing these, so, hey, let's keep going.

But what I discovered in the Planck time¹ it took for us to transition back out of the Astral is that I actually, very literally did not remember seeing the sun.  I may as well have lived my entire life in a notably execrable cavern.  If you don't think that would have a detrimental effect on your psychology, your flippant attitude has left me tempted to recommend the experience to you.  On the other hand, if you aren't the person from the previous postulate, I can actually recommend the experience plus the exit transition.  'Cause, let me tell you, it's transformative, I feel amazing.  Let me get back to you after I have a bath, if I haven't transcended.

But it's not time for baths, yet, evidently.  First it's debriefing, with a Lady Lavinia Vanderboren my new gang is employed by, and with whom I've just realized I have not yet secured similar employment.  (Yep, might as well.  Not going back north.)  She seems nice.  She's in charge of this place, a real frontier woman, at least as human nobles go.  I can't quite comprehend why anyone would pick this particular frontier to be in rear of, but they're making a really good go of it.

Still not entirely sure what's going on.  I should ask more questions, but everyone seems so full of purpose and certainty and I suspect they're all just playing along with the one guy who actually knows, so I fell in step.  At the very least, I believe I have determined that they settled this area before the business with demonic cults and evil superweapons.  Yeah, you got to stand up for what's yours, even when what's yours is some hastily built cottages that are only marginally more hospitable than the surrounding jungle, and then only because lately the bloodsucking insects are also extraplanar.

Help me, I'm slipping.  It's not really that bad.  The place is actually pretty charming.  I'm just getting slightly testy because I'm still in this waiting room and they still haven't told me where I can get a decent bath.

1. Planck time, as you might be, but probably aren't wondering, has nothing to do with Max Planck or the speed of light.  Planck was the name of a gnome in the Corusk Mountains who theorized the minimum duration in which a reasonable gnome can accomplish anything meaningful.  He said it was about six seconds.  His theory is not well known or, indeed, known of at all; Guinet knew him personally.

Savage Tide: ECL 10 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 3: Journal 3

Well, we're all warned about it.  Just one of many phenomenons in the sociology textbooks.  I'm talking about what's known as the "I'll show them!  I'll show them all!" moment we're prone to when we mix with the big folk.  What we don't ever actually intend to show them all is roughly half a minute of getting really good and ready, during which time the situation gets basically resolved without us, but more often than not, that's what happens.

Actually, I was really unimaginably lucky.  Lesser gnomes get eaten, crushed, or disbarred.  I just had to perform the Walk of Shame as a hydra, so, hey, that was new, although the winking and hooting from the surrounding buildings made it feel just like home.  Okay, so really it's less "hooting" and more "agonized whale calls", and do not mention the "winking".

And yes, technically in order for it to be a "Walk of Shame", it's implied that I helped make the beast-with-two-backs-and-even-more-heads as a hydra, which did not happen, although now that you mention it... aw, Hel, this is how we got owlbears, isn't it?  I think uncanny perversion must be an undocumented feature of polymorph, right?  It's not just me?  It must be because it was a male hydra.  I never realized they have as many heads down below as they do up above.  That kind of sudden unexpected sensory input would occupy anyone's attention for a couple dozen seconds, at least.

Wow, and how long ago was I criticizing these guys for exactly this sort of behavior?  Note to self: ask druid if these oh-so-cuddly building-critters might be emitting some kind of pheromones...or maybe ask the psion if there could be some kind of memetic compulsion related to that statue...  Second note to self: don't actually ask any of those things.  I mean, imagine the implications if they said no.  Or yes.

Hoo boy.  Is it fair to call that a digression?  More like an ethereal jaunt.  Anyway, we made it back to the artifact to have a very comfortable nap on the dried, moldy siliceous ooze of an ancient seabed, and I'm sure it's hard to believe that we learned there are reasons not to do that above and beyond what I've just described.  I've never been so thirsty.  The tiki head just has a tiki-typical expressionless grimace on its face, but I couldn't help but see it as a little bit derisive at the time.  A proper magic tiki head would at least have had the decency to offer me some rum in a novelty glass.

Oh, our psion died.  Not recently, though.  As far as we can tell, he's been dead as long as we've known him.  Only today, his body finally gave up the ghost when it was squeezed out of him by a copru.  We brought him back, if not good as new, at least as good as he was before.  I don't see a reason to make a big deal about it.  I'm sensitive to the needs of folks whose corpuses have different planar energy needs.  Some of them are kind of triggered by it.  Heck, the head of Necromancy back at school would hit you with a shivering touch just for saying the word "positive".  That was probably actionable, now that I think about it, but obviously, he had tenure.

Savage Tide: ECL 9 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 2: Journal 2

Okay, boys and girls: if you're like me approximately twenty years ago, you've just finished unpacking in your new room at ye Ancient Unmistakable Magickal Society Concerning Spells, Their Usage, And The Teaching Thereof.  Finally, you've left behind the cold waters and the fishing nets that you'd resorted to partaking in to pay for all this, and the occasional incidental raiding parties that you didn't really have a choice in, but who's complaining when you get a cut of the loot?  Okay, so maybe your experience isn't exactly like mine.  (If it isn't obvious, I finally remembered what Krakenheim is.  Despite what you may be thinking, I can actually recommend the place.  But I'm getting sidetracked.)

Your eyes are probably sparkling and your mind is reeling with the majesty of all the magic you're about to learn so much about.  I mean...yeah.  It's magic.  That is the right way to be feeling right now.

But here's the thing: they don't tell you, as a prospective illusionist, that you're probably just going to end up as a major image slave for some adventuring party you've never even heard of.  The feeling you'll get when you realize they could actually cast it themselves, but they need their hands free for a good vigorous tug on their wand of fireballs.  Worse still, it's not even an interesting image they're asking you to make, just project the once-living visage of this abomination onto the skeleton we've animated and try to keep up as we order it to slowly (well, fairly quickly) lumber over this hill.  Where's the art?  Where's the creativity?  A familiar could do this job.  And furthermore: statistically, you're incredibly likely to be captured by a demon.

They tell me the experience is invaluable but I'm really not sure I can put any of this on a resume.  If I use them as references they probably won't bother to respond to the sending (oh, sorry, I was in an antimagic field...).

The reason for all of this, my friends?  Well, illusion is a crowded field.  Something like 80% of young gnomish wizards become illusionists, and while numbers aren't available for other races, my personal anecdotal evidence says up to 10% of them do, too.  Do you really think the Sultan of Zeif needs a gnome like you to put up unbelievably tasteless permanent images in his boudoir?  Last I heard, he can actually do that himself.  And more power to him, I say; really, what is home decor without the personal touch?  Now, if you want to hear about a really bad job, look up the sorcerers he has clean the place after hours with prestidigitation.

But enough about Corusk life.  Gnomish nonsense like this is why I left the place, and why, if you're somehow reading this A. at all and B. in Corusk, you should get out while you can.  That attitude is why the big burly norskmen down the hill (and even the less burly one who minded the general shop and you sort of fancied but never said anything) all shake their heads at you when you talk.  I mean, it's also because you're a gnome and the Fruztii aren't exactly the picture of cultural sensitivity.  But the attitude definitely isn't helping. 

(Aside: Seriously?  "Fruztii?"  Do they know how silly that sounds?  I mean...I guess it's unlikely anyone's brought it up.  I guess that's why the cartographers just write "frost barbarians" in that corner.)

See, what I've actually just described above isn't a picture of a young woman (yes, young, I'm not even 80 yet) stuck in a dead-end job.  It's a story of adventure!  Saving...something!  The world?  Maybe.  Almost definitely we're down here for a really good reason.  I mean...nobody would come down here just for jewelry, right?  It makes people "strangely evil"?  Yeah.  I know.  I've seen it happen.  Well, maybe some jewelry is just that bad.

There are gnomes in Corusk who clip their toenails with the kind of power they use down here to usurp kings.  Ultimately, I'm not sure who I pity more.

Savage Tide: ECL 7 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4: Journal 1

Hm.  I was really hoping there'd already be something written in this.

So, uh, hi there, future me.  Here's what I know, in case I forget again.

My name is Guinet Westenwold.  (Whew!  Easy one.)  I'm currently a little too deep underneath the "Isle of Dread" (two miles underground, I think they said?) with a gang of horny old wizards who've been down here a little too long.  It's exactly like a class reunion, only it smells much worse.  I mean, mage hand?  Really?  One, I've heard it all before, and two, you aren't getting any sensation from it, so what's the fucking point?  The spell you actually want to cast is...well, I wouldn't know anything about that.

Obviously, I'm kidding.  It's not like I haven't used mage hand to goose a freshman before.  (Yes, that was absolutely the extent of my adventures in magical misconduct.  Absolutely.  Look, me, some things you don't write down, even on a secret page, which this isn't.)  Also, these guys are far better company than the giant, soul-sucking monster that stuffed me in a bag and left me inside the anus of a giant barnacle.  I mean, what appears to be the anus-slash-front-door (back door?) of a giant-barnacle-slash-domicile.  The point is, they look like anuses, we're calling them anuses, and the people(?) here live(?) in anuses(no "?").  And if these guys hadn't come along, it's unlikely that Mr. Teeth would've left me there indefinitely, and even if he might I'm not really sure which of those two potential fates I would've preferred.  (I lie: it's the anus one, obviously.  It might leave a stain on your soul and your clothes, but the clothes are still yours and you can burn the soul.  Wait, I might have that backwards.)

Hey, I remember more than I thought, don't I?  I can almost see the translucent shape of my old Glamers professor intersecting the Ethereal.  I also remember, say, the idea of having parents and siblings and a (large) extended family, if not their names, faces, or how much I really liked them, anyway.  I'm sure they're doing fine.

What I don't remember is anything about this Isle of Dread or why in Krakenheim I'd be anywhere near it, much less two miles below it.

Hey, "Krakenheim"!  Something bubbled to the surface!  Now, is that the name of a place, or...?  If only I had a map.

Well, anyway, I have the assurance of an expert (me) that any memory problems are probably definitely only a result of my brush with a "devourer" (Mr. Teeth above, the expert had to consult with a taxonomy consultant for this taxonomy) and they will definitely probably go away with time.  Yes, it's all very reassuring.  No, I haven't really wanted to get into it with my saviors.  I get the distinct feeling that if the amnesia isn't monstrously induced, it's probably something I did to myself intentionally, though only Callarduran knows why (or how) I would've.  And if I'm right, he can keep knowing, I don't want to, because isn't that exactly the point?  I'm not going to be one of those people who doggedly seeks out the truth of their lost past life only to become that which they feared, or die on an altar, or go insane, or... Well, you get the picture.

Savage Tide: ECL 8 Ethel Schmidt half-ogre human rogue 3 warlock 1 cleric 3: Journal 3

What was her name

A note has been added to the earlier sketch.

Savage Tide: ECL 8 Ethel Schmidt half-ogre human rogue 3 warlock 1 cleric 3: Journal 2

Ethel appears to have lovingly rendered this image of Cayo Topa and Bonedeath in her journal.

Savage Tide: ECL 7 Ethel Schmidt half-ogre human rogue 3 warlock 1 cleric 2: Journal 1

Rock

There was a rock

I stepped on it

It stepped on me

I was the rock

Genevieve

genevieve

egeneviev

vevienege

vievengee

vegineeev

genevieve is a weird name

Sailing

A boat is a woman

With barely a sheet to cover her

Tied up in lots of ropes

And ridden

Savage Tide: ECL 4 Babafemi human spellthief 1, wizard 3: Journal 1

سجل لليسافر ولي العهد الأمير بابافيمي من زئيفي

Wond'rous!  Tho I must now away my pretenses, I am blessed not to be in the company of base assassins.  Perhaps I was foolish to hide at the outset - Ah, but no, my foes are many and their arms long indeed.  My present foothold is precarious, and owed to fortune alone.

Our party, numbering five now, returns to the Olman ruins where my immediate predecessors met their fates.  Foolhardy, perhaps, but I say nothing, and I say nothing again when we reembark numbering four.  In my heart, I am not sad to see the dwarf go.  His brashness unnerved me.  But his cursed, agonized corpus shall haunt my dreams for a time.

And now!  The stumbling, suffering priest.  In my heart, I know: that poisonous egg was meant for me.  It emerged from Bassam's foul gizzard, and the hapless fellow ate that vomitous meal in my stead.  The debt he owes me, he can never know, and never will.

But let it not be said that we set out a macabre voyage of envenomed knives and the hideous, misdirected vengeance of long-dead kings.  We surely do, but so goest all daring ventures.   Scattered amongst that bitter gruel, though, are candied plums.  The fruits I speak of?  They are those of sweet Lavinia.

She is a capable woman, having organized this expedition almost single-handed, noble enough for a tryst not to be unseemly, and beautiful besides.  I think she is as intrigued as I am, and how could she not be?  I am all that I am.

لوالدي، ووالده، وجميع من أساتذتي، سأعمل جاهدا من.

Savage Tide: ECL 4 Babafemi human spellthief 1, wizard 3: Bio

The crown prince of Zeif is a reclusive, mysterious figure.  Typical for children of the sultan, he was born and raised in the harem at the Palace of Peh'reen in Zeir-i-Zeif, the fortunate son of one of many concubines.

He has seldom made public appearances, and then only as a small child.  More recently, his father the sultan has been afflicted with a terrible illness, and rumors circulate furiously among the populace that the unseen prince must be dying of the same disease, missing, or dead.  Some doubt he ever existed, the young boy in lavish robes remembered by older folk having been merely a slave conveniently playing a part in some greater political machination.

In the apparent absence of able royal blood, the Sultanate is governed by the Grand Vizier, Bassam ibn Bulus al-Zeif.  The Grand Vizier is a man who is loved by all without exception; a man of unwavering, unparalleled honor and morality; a man with no failings or unfortunate predilections whatsoever.

Zeif is lucky to have Bassam.

The man aboard the Sea Wyvern is not dying of a terrible disease, nor is he sequestered in the Palace of Peh'reen, obviously enough.  He seems to be nothing more than a genteel crook who isn't as good at lying as he thinks he is.

Savage Tide/ Exp to the Demonweb Pits: ECL 8 Malachi Omen "Cocotona": Olman ranger 2, fighter 3, human paragon 3: Entry 1

...Awakened by resonant footsteps I rise with greatbow in hand. Only an outsider would make such noise. Surely death will be quick to follow such foolishness. This is my home and all die here without knowing her secrets. For this is the Isle Of Dread... Quietly I track the offenders to warn or kill in defence of my dwindling homeland. I happen upon a small calpolli (A tototl with trumpet, a michin, a huge tecuani, and a cuauhtla cihuatl with a great living atiacuihuayan, and many macehualli). I imagine a trophy made from the winged one and allmost miss what is following them. Before the tlacatecolotl tecuani apes descend upon the party I let loose a volley that takes the life of one demon. All fought bravely and the other beasts were soon captured or destroyed. I deceide to join their calpolli and befriend this powerful group for the betterment of the Olman people... Weeks I've traveled with the once foolish five and their weakling entourage. The quest is to deliver the meek somewhere. I care not so long as baneful creatures fall to my bow. My cause is to carve out a place fit for my people whever I go. To turn foul best from the path of life is my test. To perfect my skill and craft with my weapon is my lust... Our last venture took us into a cursed place of great stone pillars. Inside we killed an army of tainted apes and found great treasure. Eventually we came unto a great magical portal of glass and steel. Following the group I make my way through last and that is the last memory I have of my homeland... I find myself in a barren land of sand and stone and spider. I know not where my new companions went for I stand alone here. Days I travel without water or shelter until I find the nothingness of delirium. I prepare for the after and a place with the sacred dead... Yet I live... I wake to find myself in some rolling cage enslaved by foul creatures and thier spider minions. Taking my life my only option if not for the angel I am caged with. Her care and most of the meager rations given us brings me from the precipice of death. In visions I dream of her and the whispered name Aleanna. This sleep lasts for days...Finally whole and ludcid I must somehow find our freedom... Our love grows and in the dark I show her my fully regained health. Her skin tingles with magic as we come together... My merciful angel Aleanna... We nearly arive town and the auction house nears when our captors are beset by a band of adventurers (another winged something, a holy warrior, a knight, and a small person). Thankfully they win out and relinquish our freedom. I swear a blood bond to aid them until I return their lives three times over. A simple question is asked of me "Do You care to join us in the Abyss". I look to my new found love we exchange nods and turn back to grin in answer... So far the Demonweb Pits have lived up to expectation. In the short time we have been here many foes have fallen. My bow has put many creatures to the path including venomous spider the size of boulders, some foul beasts called sporebats, a spider at home in magma, and even a couple of minor demons. All of this to return a holy warrior his grace. Our quest matters not. Just to stand with this group even against death itself would stir my spirit...

Savage Tide: ECL 9 Tuaca half-fey phanaton spellthief 6, cleric 1: entry 1

It wouldn't come off.

Two nights in a row, now, I've dreamed it. The troglodyte king's murder. And as they chop his smiling head off, the blood splatters across me. I wasn't even there! And I will wear that forever.

Stupid lady.

Stupid town. It should fall back into the sea, or be eaten by the jungle. They've outgrown themselves. They've decided they don't want a place in the world - they want everyone else's place too. And their blood is on me. The orca guy doesn't seem to mind as much. He says it is the law of nature. The strong over the weak. I guess I believe that, but that doesn't feel like what happened. When our little scouting party saw the troglodytes in the banana field, it was a battle over resources. Us versus them. But then I go and use my charm on the leader. And everything went wrong. I thought it would be a great way to stop the fighting. And it was. I guess the problem was it worked too good. As long as the king stayed under the effects of the charm, he was willing to not just stop the fighting, but stop the war between his people and the humans in the city. Not one other person in our group seemed to think so, tho. We argued about it, and came to no conclusion. We even took the Trog king to the city gates to talk with the human leaders (against his and my better judgement) and nobody said anything but "Kill him. Kill them all."

Kill the "others".

Sure I don't like the Trogs. They are violent and stupid. And GODS do they stink. Oh such a stink they make. But killing one who has been rendered helpless and friendly. Helpless by whose magic? By MY magic. The humans wanted no part of a truce. They want no part of sharing the land they think they own with "others." So they demanded we take the King back to his tribe and execute him in front of them.

The Orca says law of nature. I don't think so Death in battle, yes. Death because the humans don't want to share, so their city tells them to kill the (temporarily) helpless? I won't do that. I won't do anything this city asks me to. Not any more. They are getting ready for a pirate attack. The pirates want the town's gold, I guess. Well, survival of the fittest, right? I am not part of this city. I don't feel welcome. And I will feel no loss if they lose.

A tribe of Phanatons from the south of the the Isle of Dread (a stupid name for the Land, that of course, the humans came up with) are supposed to join the city to help fight the pirates. I have half a mind to sneak a boat and cut them off, telling them not to bother - half these humans already see the tribe as a nuisance and could likely turn on them once the bigger threat is gone. I see nothing here anymore that would make me feel differently. In any case, I will be leaving the city when the battle is over. Either with the Phanaton tribe back to their lands, or with the orca if I can convince him to take to the seas once more. That might not take much. He spends more time on his boat - even while docked - than just about anyone else. I just hope he takes all the other ships with him. This settlement doesn't need a fleet to tempt them to try conquering other lands they think they deserve.

I've never been on the open ocean before. I must admit the thought frightens me some. But my place isn't here.

I am an "other."

Savage Tide: ECL 8 Bartholomew Grundy human rogue 7 / legendary captain 1: Entry 2

We've retrieved the Kraken's Claw. I'm glad enough to be back in port and with our numbers bolstered, but I'm bound to commit some strange events which happened afore, lest I deny our accomplishments.

The medicine man did some ritual to conjure wind into our sails. I worried the men would have no part of it, but it seems they've decided he's on the good side of the sea. Well enough, as it got us there twice as soon.

First thing we sighted, halfway along, was an ebony pillar jutting up from the surface of the water, like a great, terrible headstone. If that weren't enough to tell you my dislike of it, then read on, as we came back to it later. On the leg up, we only let the witch fly out to it and he came back with naught but vague and ill omens. I was unsurprised.

It was smooth from there, and even as we approached the wreck, I thought we'd sight more of the same that brought her down, but all was quiet. Then, we set foot upon the boat, and out of the water rose a thunder lizard with a demon on his back commanding him. It might have finished us alone, but I spotted an eel biting at its nethers, and I took the chance to pierce its brain while it were distracted.

The medicine man surprised me before when he took a deep breath and blew a gale what knocked that demon off its mount. Now, though, it swam into my hold through the break in the side. That weren't to be had, so we all ran down there to face it. Again we may have been finished, aye and Long Bob were wounded but not mortally, but for that eel who followed it over, and then again a shark whose distraction gave me the opening to finish her.

Then it were quiet again. I set the men to repairs, and all were surprised to find them done by day's end. We celebrated as we could. I asked that Olman, who I've come to call Nock as his name is strange, why those fish were drawn to our fight. He just gave the same strange look I'm accustoming to. I thank the gods either way, and specifically those of the sea.

Then we sailed back, and for the blessing of his wind, we set the medicine man on a launch roped between both vessels. My companions insisted upon me that we go back to check that awful headstone we sighted before, so we did, though I half expected the writing on it to change to show the names of all on board when we neared it. We made it away without event, though I'm told that the thing is older than time, and probably were made by the gods themselves. Good riddance, I say. It's our place to leave be.

Now we've returned to Farshore just in time to see an election. Seems the horseman's uncle, probably another horse-loving fop, has been challenging her grace the Lady Vanderboren's decisions. Now, I'm all for beasts of burden, but they and their offspring have no say in a port under attack. They held a vote then and there, which ended in a tie.

And now we've been gone a week and all the problems in the town before seem to have grown unmanageable. So I set myself to recruiting for the local militia. I make sure to talk about the upcoming revote with each man, and too I'm keeping a list of those promising potentiates who don't care for duty on land, as they may soon be called to duty at sea. All were glad to hear the tales of what we've done so far, and I think I may have inspired a few of them.

Savage Tide: ECL 8 Ichigoya orc spirit shaman 8: Entry 1

イチゴヤの日記
未開の地で悟りを巡礼


私は、小型ボートに乗って不快し、異教の地に到着した私はこの長い時間を費やした。

私の新しい仲間が遅い私を受け入れていた。 1つの尾がある場合、私は知って要求した。

我々の最初のタスクを追跡するための不快な海賊船に私たちを取り戻した。

途中、不幸な荒廃小猿がいた。彼らの魂の混乱していた。今はされていません。

私は、崖をジャンプしようとした。私は足首をねんざした。

燃焼時には海に到着した。海賊たちの魂は、猿のように混乱していた。彼らも我々落ち着いた。

私の仲間私の傷を治癒したとして私を信頼するようになった。

悪魔の海賊は、自分の死を食べた。我々は彼らにも、平和を与えた。しかし、我々の友人に海の怪物の一人となった。

私たちは友人の心に平和を与えた。私たちの多くはすぐに同じ病気には低下していた私の治療の安全性へ出た。

これらの人々の薬について何も知らない。彼らは私には失われるだろう。

も：多くのカーテンや大トカゲの一室。

洞窟には、クジラが泳いされている男。

私たちは、高貴な人を殺すのは、ポートからの彼女の友人を停止するよう指示が穏当な海賊に会った。

私たちは港に戻った。は、ポートの貴族の邸宅はすでに攻撃された。

カエルていた男性のマナーを侵略されています。私たちは残りの多くの霊を入れた。

それから、我々は、ポートの高貴な救出。

数ヵ月後には、ポートの貴族の護衛には海の一部の農民私たちは尋ねた。

この航海、非常に長いです。いくつかのことが起こる。


3人が死亡した。私は霊を祈った。

私も、私の精神は、海の怪物の体内に戻さ死亡した。

村全体が焼失した。私は、骨に適切に傾向があった。

我々は崖に登った。崖登りはしないでください。

嵐の数が多すぎます。私たちは、失われたとし、ポートの高貴なサルガッソーに飲み込まれた。

最後に、船が暗礁に墜落した。


今我々は恐ろしい島で歩いた。私は単に私が私の仲間が支援。

これは長い時間がかかったし、多くの問題を抱えた霊落ち着いた。死者の洞窟の中を歩いて、と悪魔の森林柄。

今は遠い岸にあります。ほかの海賊たちは町を攻撃している。これらの著作権侵害者が、自分の精神コントロールはまだ我々に休息を入れた。

今すぐそこまで海岸安全ですが、私たちは、サンゴ礁にクラッシュし、船を再構築に戻ります。私たちはそれが必要になります。グランド海賊軍の海岸近くまで攻撃します。

は絶望的だが、私ではないということがわかります。私たちは勝利する必要があります。

Savage Tide: ECL 7 Bartholomew Grundy human rogue 7: Entry 1

There was a commotion at manor Vanderboren today. I'm told some swampfolk came and held her grace the Lady Vanderboren hostage. Fair enough, though; these recent hires of hers came and cleaned it all up nicely. Moreover, I heard they'd just come back from Kraken's Cove. That takes panache.

What with the captain's disappearance, I naturally had little better to do, and far worse if I didn't pick up roots, so I signed up with Vanderboren's little company. And what she pays! You'd hardly believe I was just a deckhand for Mulholland last week, the way I'll be swindling her. It gets better, though. Down in Kraken's Cove, it seems they'd found a seaworthy vessel, minding the claw marks, of course. And they just left it there.

Naught but one in the lot seems to know the first thing about a sailing ship, so I'm ready to play the hero, but the savvy one with the long name has already got it in his mind to reclaim it, and hired a bunch of professionals to do the job. Of course, I had my doubts, but with these swabs I ended up as little better than a tagalong. Get the boat they did, and sailed out of Kraken's Cove without even breaking a sweat. I believe they could've done it asleep. At this point, I'd believe it if I were told they could sail into a hurricane and out again, nets full of fish and gold coins. Not much for conversation, though, and clearly no heads for business, desperate as they were to take what he's paying them, despite being easily the plain best sailors at least that I've ever seen, and maybe in the entire world.

With that in mind, I convinced Long Bob to hire them for a few months, and we set up a little escort service for merchants and so forth out of Sasserine. Somehow, we didn't make much more than to cover the pay for those damn hires, but then I met Amella. She was smitten instantly by my natural charm, though I can't say as I disliked her even a bit, in turn. I believe we're in agreement that there's a dearth of old-fashioned sailors in this part of the world…though that's not all we agree on.

It's been a little while since then. The Lady Vanderboren's got us bringing some settlers far to the south, to a settlement on the "Isle of Dread". Surely it can't be that bad? You're liable to frighten the crew, calling it like that. I guess it doesn't matter much, as Long Bob's crew wouldn't be frightened by the same sort of things as frighten a typical sailor.

Her Grace is sailing with us as well, on her own personal ship, though for some reason there's a few folk she'd rather were on ours. One of them brought his horse. I suppose if she's unhappy with us, I'd rather this than less pay.

We stopped at Fort Blackwell, and I'm told I died. It's hard to remember it exactly like that, seeing as I'm not dead, but it's hard to remember much of what happened at all, when it comes down to it. Either way, I figure I owe something to the baroness here, who had me brought back, as thanks for my "valiant defense" of the place. If I did die, then I can't believe my help was so valuable. I'll send something back her way if I can.

It's been another while. Now that we're out of sight of land, I've remembered this journal. A few happenings of note since then, too.

A few of our men escorted the gnomish guide into a ruins on our route. I don't care to know what happened there. Half of them came back statues, and the witch doctor came back an orc. Strange enough, but he was a monkey before.

We came briefly to Fort Greenrock, which was completely razed. I think they decided it was lizardfolk responsible. Couldn't find them, though, they'd been gone for weeks.

Most important, though, Amella and I are man and wife. Not in that order, mind you. A long voyage like this can draw people closer together, and it did. When we came to the Olman's island Renkrue, everything seemed to fall together in a way I can hardly explain.

It nearly got away from us, though. That horse-loving fop decided to prove he loved other things; specifically the chief's daughter. I managed to smooth things over by gifting the chief with the horse. Everybody's happy. Everybody who counts.

This journal ends here.

A second journal continues on the next page.

With this line I open my new journal in the relative comfort of Farshore. The last one was lost at sea. I might endeavor to remember some of the old one to this sometime, but there's no time now.

Since that tumultuous time, our ship's health were threatened on three occasions. First, we were seperated from our employer, her grace the Lady Vanderboren, in a terrible storm. We were instructed to continue alone, which we did. Then, our ship found herself mired in a sargasso. I don't pretend to understand the biology of monsters, but as near as I can tell, the whole thing was alive and wished us ill.

The final event took the life of Kraken's Claw. As we neared our destination, the all-too-ominous Isle of Dread, another storm rose and dashed her on a reef, where it happened that sea monsters made their lair.

We survived, however, and too we survived the hundreds-miles-long trek across the island to Farshore, though I barely know how. I am continually in awe of the skill of these folk whose company I have been fated with. A group of ordinary men like me would not have stood a chance against the local fauna, most of which is at least twice as large if not twice again as that back home.

We briefly lost the gnome in a cursed wood. He was taken by monkeys, and I will say again, they were big ones. If he weren't an orc, I might mistrust our witch doctor, and maybe a part of me still does. But I doubt he has anything to do with these, which I am told are not really monkeys at all, but fiends. We invaded their temple and retrieved the gnome, all of which is a bit of a blur to me.

Finally, we find ourselves in our long-sought destination: Farshore, a village under attack by pirates. Though it's hard to believe, it's not always that way. From the look of it, they were able to leisurely stroll into the port and begin ransacking the place.

We strolled in likewise and killed the dogs, or most of them. I personally stuck their captain through the throat; a bad move, in hindsight, as he hadn't shared much with his crew. I could have guessed this, but at the time, I wondered if he'd ever stay down quietly while he yet lived, having once or twice already stood back up with what we'd thought were mortal wounds. He has my respect.

Now we're left with a town to defend, a few captive boucaniers, and their ship. One of those prisoners has already helped us, and it seems he'll continue to do so. The boat, on the other hand, has been claimed by Farshore's government muckabouts. Long Bob's been whining and fretting about that for a while. As we fought off the pirates who owned the boat, it should be ours, says he. I agree but for one: I says it already is, whether they know it or not.

So I spent the rest of the day a bit more productively. The common men in this town were a bit happier to see me than their lords. I was easily able to put together a crew, and some of them even know how to fire a ballista properly.

Tomorrow, we'll set sail to retrieve the Kraken's Claw, and it's under that pretense that we'll "borrow" the pirate's ship. By the time they realize they owe us the boat anyway, it won't matter anymore.

One other thing to 'ware: as I were recruiting, I caught the attention of this Olman creeper. He asked if he might join as well. I think he's a magician of some sort, and he's definitely got an odd enough manner, if not odder. A ship can use a mage, though, so I took him on with some reservation. Here's hoping I don't regret it.