Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Apr 4, 2018 11:26:31 GMT
Excerpt from the Journal of Varis Nailo
3rd day of Tarsakh
Sitting in the Ettin with some of my compatriots, celebrating my new won journeyman status at Master Samed's forge, I was approached by an elven man named Braxton. We listened with varying degrees of credulity as this fellow, a ranger by trade, recounted his discovery of a tomb high in the western mountains. The entrance, he claimed, was sealed with ice, and looked completely untouched. He enlisted our aid in entering the tomb and securing it's contents.
Grave robbing is distasteful to me at the best of times, but something about his description of the place hinted at ancient power, and with the green hordes rising, I cannot help but feel that any possible advantage must be pursued. Victory may not be pretty, but it must be won. My companions seemed to agree - Barden, the dwarven storm priest, my brother paladin Dvargar with his faithful hound Laika, the peacocking minstrel Lachlan Thorn and a new arrival to Daring, a debonair fellow calling himself Fiore - and so we began our preparations.
We gathered supplies - the peaks, Braxton claimed, were still locked in winter's grasp - and set out for the foothills of the mountains. Half a day's travel from Daring, we came across a valley, the centre of which seemed to have reached the full flush of spring ahead of the surrounding landscape. Approaching a great tree that stood at the heart of the ancient river bed, we were greeted by a dryad, who named herself Silva, and offered us blessings, as well as knowledge of the tomb we sought. This Tromar had been a great and honourable warrior, but had passed from life nearly 800 years since.
We took our leave of Silva and marched on, making camp in the foothills of the mountains. The night passed largely without incident until, as dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, Lachlan shook me awake in my bedroll, motioning me to silence. No sooner had I buckled on my armour than we were attacked - Orcs patrolling further south than was usual, no doubt stirred up by the gathering of the tribes. We managed to defeat them, pursuing their leader further into the hills and finally slaying him, with Dvargar taking his head for Lothar, in what is becoming a grim mundanity.
As the sun crept above the horizon, we once more set off into the mountains, reaching the entrance to the tomb and frightening off the ice creatures that guarded it, though Braxton fell into a crevasse and broke his leg in the skirmish. I pulled him out and set the leg, but it was clear he would be no use within the tomb. He cleared the passage of ice by means of an alchemical reagent in his pack, and charged us to be quick.
So it was that the five of us entered the tomb and were greeted by a spectral guardian. Mighty Tromar would yield his blessings only to those who proved themselves worthy in four tests: cunning, strength, selflessness and faith. With that he vanished, and the door to the main chamber opened before us. Within we were sorely tested, Dvargar demonstrating his wit, all five of us uniting to defeat the ancient guardians in the test of strength, Dvargar again proving his mettle by throwing himself into a pit of acid to save us all, and finally Barden, Dvargar and myself enduring spectral torment in a test of faith.
Having proven ourselves, the guardian appeared once again, and delivered unto us Tromar's bounty - a veritable horde of powerful items, which I do not doubt will be of much use in the coming conflict. I myself ended up with the axe of the great warrior, a fearsome thing that smoulders in my hands, and gives me a renewed sense of vigour when I hold it.
But enough for now - I must return again to Master Samed's forge. There is much to be done in preparation for the coming war, and my new responsibilities leave little time for rest.
3rd day of Tarsakh
Sitting in the Ettin with some of my compatriots, celebrating my new won journeyman status at Master Samed's forge, I was approached by an elven man named Braxton. We listened with varying degrees of credulity as this fellow, a ranger by trade, recounted his discovery of a tomb high in the western mountains. The entrance, he claimed, was sealed with ice, and looked completely untouched. He enlisted our aid in entering the tomb and securing it's contents.
Grave robbing is distasteful to me at the best of times, but something about his description of the place hinted at ancient power, and with the green hordes rising, I cannot help but feel that any possible advantage must be pursued. Victory may not be pretty, but it must be won. My companions seemed to agree - Barden, the dwarven storm priest, my brother paladin Dvargar with his faithful hound Laika, the peacocking minstrel Lachlan Thorn and a new arrival to Daring, a debonair fellow calling himself Fiore - and so we began our preparations.
We gathered supplies - the peaks, Braxton claimed, were still locked in winter's grasp - and set out for the foothills of the mountains. Half a day's travel from Daring, we came across a valley, the centre of which seemed to have reached the full flush of spring ahead of the surrounding landscape. Approaching a great tree that stood at the heart of the ancient river bed, we were greeted by a dryad, who named herself Silva, and offered us blessings, as well as knowledge of the tomb we sought. This Tromar had been a great and honourable warrior, but had passed from life nearly 800 years since.
We took our leave of Silva and marched on, making camp in the foothills of the mountains. The night passed largely without incident until, as dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, Lachlan shook me awake in my bedroll, motioning me to silence. No sooner had I buckled on my armour than we were attacked - Orcs patrolling further south than was usual, no doubt stirred up by the gathering of the tribes. We managed to defeat them, pursuing their leader further into the hills and finally slaying him, with Dvargar taking his head for Lothar, in what is becoming a grim mundanity.
As the sun crept above the horizon, we once more set off into the mountains, reaching the entrance to the tomb and frightening off the ice creatures that guarded it, though Braxton fell into a crevasse and broke his leg in the skirmish. I pulled him out and set the leg, but it was clear he would be no use within the tomb. He cleared the passage of ice by means of an alchemical reagent in his pack, and charged us to be quick.
So it was that the five of us entered the tomb and were greeted by a spectral guardian. Mighty Tromar would yield his blessings only to those who proved themselves worthy in four tests: cunning, strength, selflessness and faith. With that he vanished, and the door to the main chamber opened before us. Within we were sorely tested, Dvargar demonstrating his wit, all five of us uniting to defeat the ancient guardians in the test of strength, Dvargar again proving his mettle by throwing himself into a pit of acid to save us all, and finally Barden, Dvargar and myself enduring spectral torment in a test of faith.
Having proven ourselves, the guardian appeared once again, and delivered unto us Tromar's bounty - a veritable horde of powerful items, which I do not doubt will be of much use in the coming conflict. I myself ended up with the axe of the great warrior, a fearsome thing that smoulders in my hands, and gives me a renewed sense of vigour when I hold it.
But enough for now - I must return again to Master Samed's forge. There is much to be done in preparation for the coming war, and my new responsibilities leave little time for rest.
