While travelling to High Hedge to re-equip themselves, the Troupe met Kivan. An elven archer seeking revenge for the murder of one close to him. His target, as it turns out, is Tazok the half-ogre. Someone the Troupe has already been hunting on their investigation of the Iron Throne.
22 Eleasias 1368
Before we leave we take a moment to discuss where to go next. Kivan is eager to seek out Tazok, and we know where he might be. We made little impact on Section’s forces before we had to retreat, perhaps it is wise to go after the Iron Throne again. The others agree: we will return to the Cloakwood and assault the mine a second time.
And I will be close to my father’s killer. To my vengeance.
We thank Thalantyr, who responds with dismissive “yes, yes, go now.” Before we can make our way out, Breagar trips over his own feet. His voice fills High Hedge with a fine example of Dwarvish swearing.
Breagar: Oh marashrazbulnarazazdarzim! These damned boots will be the death of me.
On hearing this outburst, Imoen chuckles. Breagar’s anger is suddenly redirected at my childhood friend.
Breagar: What is so funny, foolish girl!
Imoen: It sounds so great.
Dwarvish must be a great language for swearing.
Breagar: Pah. Dwarvish is the perfect language, the first one ever spoken on the plane, before there were any others.
Imoen: Could you… I mean… could you teach me?
Breagar: Dwarvish? Pah. Never. Your voice is too high and your neck is too small. You would choke on the very first word.
Imoen: Oooh come on. Don’t be a gelvos.
Breagar: I shouldn’t be a… bone… head?
Imoen: You see? I can do it.
Breagar: Pah, foolish child. You pronounced it completely wrong.
Imoen: Then teach me, please!
Breagar: Pah, I’m telling you it wouldn’t do you any good. But if you want to embarrass yourself, fine. First let me…
As I listen to their conversation I start to feel the itch to learn Dwarvish as well. Elves rarely swear, and if they do it’s usually to insult those deemed “lesser” than themselves.
We leave Thalantyr’s abode and almost instantly we hear the creak of animated bones. Skeletons lurking again.
Before the first dagger hits the dirt, Kivan’s arrows flash through skulls like a rumor in a tavern. The skeletons collapse, nothing withstanding an elf on a mission of revenge.
We make our way north toward the Coast Way and the Friendly Arm, both on our way to the Cloakwood.
The abandoned house is crawling with spiders again.
Kieria and Kivan make short work of them, barely breaking stride. At this rate, we might have the local pest problem solved before the Iron Throne can regroup.
The house is still empty so we continue north. Dawn splits the sky in garish pinks as we trudge north, and for a moment, it feels like the wilderness is safe from spiders and undeath.
Kivan smiles at me.
Kivan; For a bookworm you are well at ease outdoors, my young friend. I can see only the smallest indications that you are not accustomed to walking the beast’s trails and sleeping under the dome adorned by stars.
Aegon: We are kin, elf. I am at home in the forest.
Kivan: We are akin then, and more than merely in appearance. You remind me of myself on my first ranging. I wonder if, like me, you feel that it is time for you to start living. And if I’m not mistaken, you are quite pleased with this change.
Aegon: Nay, it all went terribly wrong, Kivan! Gorion is dead, I am on the road with chanced comrades, someone is after me… That might seem like living to you, for myself I have to say that I want no part of it. But I am afraid I have no choice in the matter.
Kivan: I wish I could console you, Aegon, yet I cannot. I know the pain and the emptiness of a loss and the hopelessness all too well. However, we must keep going, if only to avenge those who were so mercilessly erased from the world.
Kivan’s compassion stirs something I dare not name. It isn’t hope, but it’s not quite despair either. There is nothing more to be said, so we continue on in silence for a while.
A short stretch down the road we come across a young boy. He seems terrified, so I approach him cautiously.
Jase: Don’t you be getting any closer or I’ll have Mom come and give you the belt!
Aegon: Relax, kid, I don’t want to hurt you.
Jase: Oh, sure! That’s what that other group of bandits said, and then they went and attacked a caravan I just saw leave. They were a bunch of liars, probably just like you. Get lost!
The kid runs away before we can stop him. Poor boy was petrified. Seeing someone murdered before his eyes at such a young age…
Jase’s warning unsettles me. Is it just nerves? Or is the Iron Throne already tightening its grip here again? Perhaps we let ourselves be distracted by Section for too long.
The boy’s warning proves true. Further along the path we are ambushed by bandits. We get to work, Imoen killing the first bandit before he can loose an arrow.
Breagar cleaves through the rest with his throwing axe. It strikes one before returning to his hand and he immediately strikes the next one down. The bandits don’t last long.
We take their meager equipment and scalp them. It’s troubling to see bandits back on the road again. Have all our efforts been for naught? Shutting down the Iron Throne’s Mine is more important than ever now.
A handful of diseased gibberlings ambush us, a routine encounter by now. These rabid things should know better.
I shouldn’t be so confident. One of the demonic buggers finds a gap in my armour and I feel claws sink into my chest.
I crush its skull with Bashrik’s Hammer, and arrows and bolts fly into the rest. I curse my hubris, before taking a moment to heal my wounds.
The rest of our journey north is uneventful. Eventually the fort that is the Friendly Arm comes into view. Breagar is delighted to see it.
Breagar: Ah, the Arm! Bentley may be a crazy Gnome-wacko, but his beer’s worth it. What say you, Aegon? Shall we have a mug?
I swear this is the first time he hasn’t seemed angry about this or that, but I’m looking forward to a good night’s rest. Part of me relishes the road. The other part just wants a night without bandits and spiders. We make our way to the central fortress, stopping only to sell the bandit loot so we can buy a room for the night and a round of ales.
We reintroduce ourselves to familiar faces. Kieria ends up talking to an elf near the bar who says he knows me. I look over. It’s Ender Sai, the spy we rescued from Tazok!
Ender Sai: You’re one of Aegon’s crew, right? Good for you.
I go over to see how he’s been doing since he escaped the Bandit Camp. I expected him to be seeking retribution as well, but he’s just happy that it’s all over.
Ender Sai: Aegon.
Aegon: Ender.
Ender Sai: Are you still hunting Tazok’s merry crew?
Aegon: I’ll be heading up Cloakwood way soon.
Ender Sai: May your enemies drink deep of the cup of confusion.
He takes a slow sip from his mug. Something occurs to me about our first encounter.
Aegon: I don’t recall telling you my name.
Ender Sai: Word gets around, Aegon. Your adventures down the Nashkel mines are bending everyone’s ears.
Aegon: There were rumours of a dragon down there. And *demons* skittering in the dark…
Ender Sai: I applaud your prowess. Truly, I bask in the radiance of the Great Adventurer.
Aegon: Are you mocking me?
Ender Sai: A little, but with affection only, kiddo.
He takes another slow sip from his mug. I do my best to keep the conversation going.
Aegon: I didn’t realise you’d come here after escaping the bandits.
Ender Sai: The Friendly Arms was close, and well-known for its hospitality.
Another sip. He looks different to how he did in the cage. He’s still bruised and gaunt, but he is a lot cleaner. And he smells nice.
Aegon: You look… scrubbed.
Ender Sai: Have you seen the bath-house this place keeps? There’s so much hot water I could cry. And towels like clouds – fluffy, lavender-scented clouds – and Bubblebaths of Great Cleansing…
He takes yet another sip from his mug. I notice he is only taking small sips.
Aegon: How long have you been nursing that drink?
Ender Sai: A while. Long enough to consider proposing marriage and asking it to bear my children.
Aegon: Is it that you can only afford one drink?
Ender Sai: That would be a… not incorrect assumption of my current circumstances. Don’t mind it, Aegon. I’ll get by. Got a skill in my fingertips, me.
To business then, Aegon.
Buy me another drink and I’ll take you upstairs.
I’m not the prettiest rogue you’ll ever spy, but I can keep you happy for the night.
I wasn’t expecting this. Does he mean…? So suddenly? I’m at a loss for words.
Aegon: Huh?
Ender Sai: The Hero’s Reward? Don’t you want private time with the person you rescued? It’s traditional. In some circles, it’s celebrated, even.
Aegon: So you’re offering this as… payment.
Ender Sai: The last two… three weeks, I was tied up in a corner with a sack over my head. The only question was whether I’d get another beating…
Or if they’d finally kill me…
So I owe you.
But hear and now, to pay the debt, I have one coin.
What do you say?
Aegon: Ender, I just don’t want to do that with you.
Ender Sai: So be it, Aegon.
Aegon: Enough of this talk. Sit, drink with me, tell me stories of the big city if you will, and I’ll bore your head off with Candlekeep’s dusty books…
Ender Sai: Ah? Well have you heard the one about the…
We sit long into the night, drinking bitter ale and sharing stories that are by turn exciting, ridiculous, sweet, and sad. For a while the burden of revenge lifts, a lighter shadow cast against the night.
Everything goes black and the next thing I know I am woken by the sound of snoring. I have an aching head, and am sitting slouched and awkward in a corner of the inn’s common room. Ender leans on my shoulder, heavy and relaxed, his nose into the crook of my neck. His breath tickles my skin.
Ender Sai: …Mmmph… where… Achoo!
Aegon: We have to stop meeting like this.
Ender Sai: Morning, is it?
I don’t do goodbyes, much, but-
He grasps my wrist tightly.
Ender Sai: Keep yourself safe.
I pull myself up and proceed up the stairs. I think Kieria got a room for us. I know I’ve found the right room when I catch sight of a half undressed Kivan smiling.
Kivan: M’lady Imoen, I have heard that it does not befit a human maiden to watch a male undress.
Imoen: Oh, well, yeah… sorry ’bout that, Kivan! I don’t mean to intrude, or anything… but… um… what’s that pendant on your neck?
Kivan: A ranger’s insignia, Imoen.
Imoen: Uhm? What?
Kivan sighs.
Kivan: It is customary for a ranger to choose an animal to identify himself as he walks the land.
I would carve or paint it as my mark to let others know my trail. This will help others to discover my fate if I become lost or will tell a weary traveller who had done him the kindness of equipping a road cabin with food and firewood.
Imoen: Interesting. Yours looks like an eagle to me.
Kivan: Falcon, to be more precise. It is not an unusual choice for a foolish youngster who dreams of valour and great feats.
Imoen: You think you were a bit of a dreamer in your youth? Anyhow, it looks pretty, this carving. Rogues should get one, too! Actually, I remember there was a legend of a thief who left an imprint of a crimson cloak as his signature!
Hmm, what would I choose for a sigil? Oh, I know! Guess, Kivan, what will be my sign?
Kivan: A sly red fox?
This is the moment I choose to stumble into the room and collapse on the bedroll. I’m aware of the two watching me, but by the time I return to the waking world, they are asleep.
23 Eleasias 1368
We wake early and pack our things for the journey back to the Cloakwood. I feel like my head is splitting in twain. I’ve never had a hangover this bad before. I consider checking our pack for an Antidote, but decide our potions are better saved for when we really need them.
We press on, the Friendly Arm’s walls shrinking behind us. Hours pass before the trees start to close around us. Breagar is uncomfortable as they do so.
Breagar: Well then, to Cloakwood. Let’s hope it’s worth it to crawl through this chaos.
Kivan: You behold the delicate balance of a forest! You would have to be a dwarf to see a mess in that.
Breagar: Buzzurk! You would have to be an elf to see anything *other* in it.
Breagar’s scowl speaks louder than his words. He truly hates these woods.
I look at the path ahead. All I see is a path to the mines. A path to Tazok. To father’s killer. To vengeance.
