Thorain Toradur, Precipice of Change

Thorain laid upon the ground of the Staglord's acquisitioned keep, his rich dark blood warming the thick stones beneath him. The Staglord's arrow was burried deep in his chest an d it was clear to Thorain that if not treated soon, he would die. The battle raged on about him, he saw Gren's figure approach, fending off the hulking brute that was about to bash in Thorain's head. Thank goodness, he needed the help. Slowly Thorain drifted away from the material plane...into the realm of visions and dreams, between waking life and death.

He soared high above the Greenbelt, the wind cleaned the feeling of death from his feathers leaving Thorain refreshed. When he had first entered this land he had found it oppressive, barren of goodness and filled with the stink of trolls. Now the Greenbelt changed it's appearance. No longer a frightful wilderness, it opened up and offered new opportunities, chief amongst them, the opportunity of freedom. He was shunned by some elves in his home land for his appearance, and by others for his queer ambitious nature, not natural to most elves. But here in this land, none knew what he was supposed to be, and if they knew, they didn't care.

He looked down across the land and began to see "home" among the clusters of trees. The keep, rebuilt looked majestic, newly woven banners snapping in the crisp wind. The rivers ran clear and wild, nourishing the realm, free of evil, free of the oppressive taint of civilization. But they would come. Humans spread across the realm "taming" it wherever they could. Stupid. The land tamed them. It told them where to live and gave them what they needed to live. But they would slowly ruin it. Thorain knew that he could not stop them, they would colonize the greenbelt soon, so, he would simply have to ensure that it was done properly. Instill the correct beliefs in people and perhaps this land would survive where others would have surely failed.

He soared over the land that he hoped to finally call home. Or at least for a time; a wood elf never stays in one place for too long before the winds call them to a new home.

"Thorain!"

"Thorain get up!"

Gren's voice; the paladin had saved his life. Good, there was still much to fight for.

Cleaning up

Mieszko stepped aside for a moment as the rest assessed and collected valuables from around the fort. His hands were shaking and his legs nearly gave way beneath him as the leftover adrenaline surging through his blood desperately sought escape. It was a gamble, their plan, and in the end it paid off. He wasn't proud of his last ditch threat to gain entrance inside, but somehow it had worked. The battle was something quite new for him. He had never been much of a fighter, but over the course of this last month or so spent travelling and skirmishing side by side with these men, he had begun to found his stride.

While previous engagements had left him awkwardly scrambling for victories, landing lucky blows, and falling in pits, he had felt keenly aware and focused this time around. Moments from the battle flickered in his memory, as he remembered each swing and thrust, every dodge and parry.

"Maybe I could get used to this."

With those words he steadied his hands, and returned to begin tallying up their findings.

Journal Entry : A problem within

We have done it! It took some stern words and the shedding of blood, but the end result is undeniable. We have eliminated the threat of the Stag Lord and taken his keep. Now we must set about taming the rest of the green belt and establish a colony. with the fort as a strong point I believe we should build the colony around it.

This undertaking could prove more problematic than one would expect though. It seems that Thorain and Kyzziem are at odds with each other. It's a wonder that something as small as a name could cause such a division between to people. Were it simply the name of are charter I feel that things could be worked out easily enough but I can see that Thorain finds Kyzziem to be head strong an bold. Something that doesn't flatter his calm wisdom. Horrace also has no love for the Danswitch Expedition but his cold Dwarven pragmatism wont let that interfere with our goals.

Before we go any further we will have to have a sit and discuss our plans and put an end to this dissent once and for all. Together we have accomplished so much, I wont let this all fall apart over something so petty.

Horrace: Actualization

Of all the thoughts that show from the heart, through the eyes, the one Horrace was most familiar with was self hate. And he saw a painful amount behind those two bloodshot eyes gleaming like angry moons from between the slots of the glistening bone helmet.

The impact of the first arrow ripped through his armor, tore its way through his muscle and sinew, and knocked against the bones in his shoulder. The force made Horrace spin away and clench his teeth in agony. That hurt. A lot. But he continued the charge. Staring this madman down in his own keep, full of his own men.

There was shouting from all sides. He heard Gren barking some orders. He felt a tingle down his spine each time Thorain sang out another arcane verse. Off to his side he saw Kyzium moving quickly, looking around for an opening. Their eyes met briefly and it was clear they had the same goal. A silent plan formed between them. Horrace would hold the Stag Lords attention while his partners would take out the men behind them, and Danswitch would sneak up behind to overpower the bandit king. Hundreds of thoughts and battle plans were racing through his mind. Horrace began to doubt himself.

Just then a cloud of humming energy washed over him. He glanced back in shock to see Thorain pointing a pair of fingers towards him. A hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. Horrace returned the smirk and turned back to his foe as the magic washed over him. His gait increased and soon the sound of his footsteps became a booming that shook the stone. He now towered over the humans around him, wide and heavy as a boulder. His regularly large and heavy axe now looked like a tree trunk with a broad metal blade as big as a tavern door. Horrace roared. Then the second arrow buried itself into his guts.

Nothing could stop these four it seemed. No job was impossible with teamwork and bravery, like that found in these few. They seized the Greenbelt and pulled the world's britches down to its ankles.

Thorain Toradur: Musings, Muses

A potion of Shield: A hard scale, a drop of quick silver and a piece of a broken arrow shaft. Grind together the ingredients using a mortar and pestel, and cook in pot until mixture begins to smoke. Add water and essence of abjuration. Cook until fumes begin to turn azure, at which time the words of shielding must be spoken, then stoke the fire and burn, boil until mixture resembles the color of the maiden star, blue and bright.

It feels as though an age has passed since I have engaged in revelry, where are the fey, dancing in the dark forests of the Narlwood? I miss their music and merriment, I miss the mirthful revelry of my kindred and the smiling twirls of elvish girls while I longed for a kiss.

Beneath the Alder trees

There begins a soft procession

Elf feet, a gentile breeze

Their caper leaves no impression.

On through the woodland path

They dance toward the fairy dell,

Beautiful voices hath

The power to make a heart swell

From joy to great sorrow

And sorrow to crimsoned love.

None think of the morrow

Nor await the white morning dove

For when the dawn arrives

All shall be gone save trees

And a lilting heart which still thrives,

Dancing among the leaves.

Magic. What a curious force. Although I use it, manipulate it to my will, so much of magic remains a mystery. The high mages of Kyonin knew so many obscure secrets that they witheld from me, but things are becoming immanently clearer. I begin to see how it can be bound to objects, and decanted in liquid form. So much of this world exists separately from magic, but now I realize, magic exists in every space of the universe if you can simply coax it to come forth and reveal it's self. I cannot put to words what I see before my eyes but it is as if I realized for the first time that the air which I breathe has substance, that the world is composed of a myriad of elements, magic being the finishing touch that brings us to life, and sadly, is capable of taking that life away. I will explain further when I have the words...

On the Future of the Sootscale Kobolds...

We have provided a great service to the Sootscale Kobolds, as well as accidentally pity killed their Gnome puppeteer. Though I see possible problems with them in the future. While they have agreed to live in peace with us, permitting any future attempts to establish a productive mine near their domain, they are still evil creatures by nature, and this will have to be considered.

The presence of a mystic and the threat of a curse kept them controlled before, perhaps some sort of similar method of control will suffice. The cunning of this gnome rather impressed me, and while he was in possession of an actual kobold body, this is nothing another skillful illusionist couldn't handle. Maybe there is another group of hideous tiny vermin nearby that we could occupy the kobolds with. Perhaps even one among the kobolds is power hungry and selfish enough to be up for the task, though the idea of using another kobold itself brings a cornucopia of fresh problems...

I guess I must reflect on whether this is all really worth it or not. After all, they are kobolds. Even if they did decide they were unhappy with our arrangement, the damage they could cause before being put to the sword would be minimal at best. It only took the four of us to wipe out an entire colony of mites, and these were the very things the kobolds seemed to be a sort of stalemate with. Hm.

No matter, these concerns are in a farther off future, and we have more pressing matters to attend to now. I believe we are soon coming to a confrontation with this 'Stag Lord', and I look forward to these negotiations. Perhaps he can be reasoned with, and if not he, perhaps his men.

Horrace: A Leap Forward

There is much to be said on the field of battle, for calculation and reasoning. Strategy can be the sharpest sword, or the strongest shield when wielded in the right hands. But there is also much to be said, in the proper situation, for reckless abandon.

Horrace took one look at the thrashing giant centipede, and bound over the ledge without a second though, bringing the heavy blade of his axe overhead so as to bring it down with as much force as possible. With sight that penetrated darkness, he saw the ground below. It looked far away. Perhaps a bit too far...

The chasm in the base of the copper mine was called “bottomless.” No one had ever proven this theory, but there were few brave enough to put fact against rumor. What they did know is that even the heaviest stone, when dropped, returned no sound of landfall, despite the massive potential for echoes.

Borrdax stood staring into the depth that seemed to never end. In one hand, his hook hammer. In the other, a squalling babe wrapped in dirty linens. In the front of his mind, the task at hand. In the back of his mind, a heavy chain of doubt and guilt seemed to stay his arm.

“Ye can'n't be down here.” He spoke softly. His voice carried like a bell to the stout dwarven woman approaching. “No wom'n are 'lowed this far down t' mine. Ye stupid slag.” There was no anger in his voice.

“Borrdax! How could'ja be thinkin' of doin' such a dark and ter'ble thing?” She spoke as a woman staring death in the face. Borrdax was, until 2 weeks ago, her husband. The love of her life. When the babe was born, things changed.

“We're dwarves woman. Dark and ter'ble is in our blood. This wee beastie is'a'no dwarf. He is but a wretch'd little curse. A curse on the likes'a wee fer havin' quicken'd him to this world. It is a punishment.” His thick arm held the bundle outward, with a lose grip. The shrieking wails of the twisted child seemed to leave cracks in the emptiness around them. He hung by thin strands over the dark endless chasm.

“He'is our son! Yer son!”

There was a long silence. Even the babe made not a peep, as if aware of his fate.

He turned on her. He stormed up to her until they were face to face. The heat and rage from his sleepless eyes seemed to dry up the tears in hers. He stood there glaring at her. Daring her to speak again. Veins in his neck and on his brow pulsing.

“If ye want to be the matron o' dis abomination, ye can have yer mindless wish.”

He dropped the babe to the ground with a thud.

Horrace landed on both feet with a loud thud.

Twenty feet is a good fall for any man, but for a 4ft dwarf, it is quite a distance indeed. The impact shook his bones, and made him bite off a tiny piece of his tongue. His crooked spine and hips ached at the jostling. But not stopping for a moment, he used the momentum of the fall to push forward, and channeled the force through his weapon. He spat out a bloody hunk of tongue and brought the axe down on the thick chitin of the beast.

Wood splintered as the statue broke in half.

Horrace stood over the carving of the god Irori, now sundered before him. In his young hands he held a wood chopping axe. Gathered around him were four other young students at the temple. It was a place for children without homes. A place for children to learn what is right, and how to be pure in the eyes of Irori. Horrace hated it.

“You broke it! The gods will curse you now, foolish freak!” The eldest child cried at his back.

Horrace turned to face him, axe still in hand. “Yev not ghat the slightesht idea hwhat it meansh to be curshed by the godsh.” He sneered and spat at the boy. “Thish is no true god. A god who prashesh perfection and beauteh. I shpit on yer holier th'n thow bullssshit.”

Another boy moved up to Horrace, with anger in his eyes. “You take that back. Irori is the one true light, and will save those who have no home. Perfection of mind and body are his gifts. You've simply been denied these truths because you have a dark soul. It twists you and corrupts you into the little monster you are.” The boy stood a good two heads taller than Horrace. There was a swift and loud kthack. The boy then stood only one head taller than Horrace, as his body fell to the ground.

Just then the temple doors burst open.

The thick hide burst open under the force of his blow. Tiny legs and bits of bright insect juices splattered against his face. The beast shrieked and thrashed, and brought down it's two massive whip-like appendages across his body in retaliation.

The force of the blow knocked him aside. He landed on what felt like a broken rib. Gashes had torn his skin open. Horrace could hear the others behind him moving up to help. Taking the edge with more caution. Perhaps a good plan considering the strength of this creature. But to Horrace it was just another challenge. Another force that seems impossible to overcome, that others would avoid or even flee from. Just another wall to break down the only way he knew how.

With a whisper of thanks to Pharasma for this glorious battle, Horrace got to his feet, smiling, and brought his terrible axe overhead once again.   

The Danswitch Expedition

Danswitch Expedition, feh.

A preposterous title, but it'll get the job done. This outpost we liberated is starting to attract more travelers, and each one is another opportunity to spread word of our prowess and generosity. As it turns out, with these companions I've come here with, I won't even have to weave these into truths.

Horrace is repulsive, but only physically, nothing some excessive bathing can't solve. I quite enjoy his company actually, though it is quite difficult maintaining a straight face around him. His conviction and determination are a thing to be treasured, and he will be quite valuable in the shaping of this land, I am certain. His martial abilities seem nothing to trifle with either.

Thorain. I foresee difficulties with him, he is extremely intelligent, and I feel he doesn't quite trust me for some reason. He could prove an invaluable partner should he come to see things my way, and his skills at penmanship will prove to be invaluable. Oh yes, and he appears to be somewhat learned in the arcane. I will watch his growth with great interest.

A Paladin. Gren Lorkev. I had hoped upon first meeting him that he was merely a mercenary of some sorts, but word and action have revealed him. The Paladins back in Eagle's Watch were the most morally rigid people he had ever witnessed, and if this pattern proved true, he would have to step warily around this one.

Anyways, it seems we have some tasks ahead of us, some petty, but all important.

Horrace: Out with the Old

With a slow and heavy sigh he pulled off the last tattered article of clothing from his twisted body. His skin was pale like bad cream, in total contrast to the common rich tawny dwarven skin. Also, unlike other dwarves he was thin. Almost frail. One shoulder was swollen, one of his legs stunted, and his hips and spine were crooked and stuck out in places. Despite the poor construction of his build, he moved with an eerie smoothness. A calm. Bruises and deep unwashed scars decorated his body. The sign turned into a pained growl as he slowly lowered himself into the scolding hot water basin.

Horrace was grateful Olag had given him a private place to do his cleaning. It was a rare event in his life, but not because he hated to wash, but because it hurt. It hurt to twist and pull all the many ripped and dirt caked rags off his body. It hurt to feel the hot water seep into his open sores. But most of all, it hurt to see himself as he was. He was grateful to be fully submerged in the copper tub. Out of his own site. The size of the tub was made for a human, so sitting the water came up to just under his nose. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the steaming hot liquid, and in thought, as he exhaled bubbles.

In just a matter of days he had become someone else. Someone he didn't know. He was talking to people. And spending the majority of his time with them. Him. A human, an elf, and a half-orc. What the hell was he doing? His entire life he had been alone. Working on his own to carry out the judgments of Pharasma. The ones her timid servants were too scared to act upon. He hadn't thought about the fact that there would be a team of people working together to purge the Green Belt of it's hostile inhabitants. He was foolish to think otherwise though. This was all too much. He was surprised at how well he kept his wits about him, kept his misanthropic discomfort to himself, and even managed to not fully alienate himself. This was just not how he worked.

That human Danswitch seemed to be all teeth. Nodding and smiling and saying sweet words, but looking down his creamy nose at everyone. It was as if he felt he was the conductor of life's orchestra, and all others simply humble players. People born with looks and grace never seem to think how it is for others. It made Horrace feel that pit of sadness and resentment in his stomach. Though the man was quick on his feet. Fast with a blade. To be honest, rather dangerous. All he could do was keep his eye on him.

Darkwood was another interesting character. He was always raised to speak poorly of elves. They were thin and weak. Fragile, and tricky. But Horrace wasn't like most dwarves. In fact, those aspects of elven nature he felt he could relate to, even more-so than the dwarven cliches of muscle and fortitude. The fellow was nice enough. Strong spoken, book smart, and no stranger to the road. All things Horrace could respect. But something seemed strange about him. It sometimes seemed as though he was hearing things no one else could. Or perhaps speaking words, while dissecting each one. He didn't simply do or say anything. He simply built aspects of himself through action. The kind of mind that worked like that was a mystery to Horrace, as was Arcane magic.

And a Half-orc? A big brawny wall of skin born of a bastard union. Horrace hated orcs. Hated them. If he had a big enough axe, he would kill them all in a single stroke. But for some reason this young bastard pup didn't get under Horrace's skin. He carried himself well enough. He fought well enough. He was clean, and even spoke praises to his god. Most of all, he seemed to resent his heritage of rape. By the Gods, this was all too much for him to deal with. After all these years of solitude, and hatred for those around him, why had he suddenly found himself able to accept these strangers?

He had lost track of time. He wasn't sure how long he had been in the tub, but the water was cold now. It resembled a broth at this point. He felt his wounds had grown soft and pussy in the water. He would have to remove them and clean them properly, now that he had gone through the work of disrobing. He used the wedge of cake soap to do it's terrible duty, and began to dry himself with one of Svetlana's wool towels. It came back a shade darker, with a notable amount of blood on it. Perhaps he would find some new clothes for the time being. His felt like bread crust, and seemed to crack just as easily. He simply plopped himself down on the cold floor lost in thought, scratching at bug bites with his long yellow nails. It was there that he came to the understanding.

These boys are fine. Fine and well. Pharasma wishes I walk in their shadow, and carry out my great duty through axe and arm. By rope and sword. And if so she commands me to pass judgment on them, I will kill any one of them without remorse or a second thought. Swift and terrible is my axeblade.

He started to feel better. 

Gren : Journal Entry

There's no way I could ever repay the Kindness Joseph has shone me. He gave me faith and a purpose. Armed with the word of Iomeade I will bring law to the green belt. I will create a land where justice and compassion will rule, a land where discrimination will not exist!

An my New friends will be with my all the way. Exspecially Horus, behind his disfigured appearance is a just heart and a kind soul. He saw threw my slap dash disguise and cared not. He even gave my words of compassion. I will no longer hide my heritage, for it is not what defines me. But of course there will be Thorain with his magic wisdom and Kysziem with his quick tong and beguiling charm. Together I believe we will create a Utopia for all.

I am getting ahead of myself we still have so much of this land to explore. An there's the pressing business of the the Bandit King this Stag Lord. An there's the people themselves with their wants and needs. It's glorious, so many people to help, so many lives to improve!

I am Gren Lorkev Bearer of Iomeade's Justice!

Thorain Toradur

The accounts within are of this strange band of lone wolves and children of the sun: the band with which I, Thorain Toradur have both the pleasure and distinct burden by contract of accompanying.

The nights thus far have been much warmer with the company of my new found companions. I cannot tell yet whether we are friends or rivals, or whether we shall last a week in these wild lands which we explore, but I count myself lucky to have them by my side. One could say that we are the most unlikely of bands, but then, they would be discrediting the uniqueness of each individual. Instead, I shall say that each of my companion's distinctions has given way to inevitable eccentricity, or quite distinguished individualism.

First, I shall shed light upon the man who sheds most upon himself, he goes by the name Kysziem Danswitch. A tall and good looking fellow to be sure, he is as true as a doppleganger and quicker of tongue than any charlatan I have ever met. The lies which he has taken the care to weave about himself are so myriad and confounding that it is difficult to discern truth from fiction wether his intent is to deceive or not. About the only thing that I am certain of is that Kysziem Danswithch is not his real name, which makes me wonder at his severe and agitating desire to have our party known as the "Danswitch Expedition." His propensity toward fiction makes me wonder at his intent if any in this preposterous title (especially considering his ineptitude in the out of doors). Luckily the young human has a natural charisma about him which has no doubt kept his head upon his shoulders, and will likely do the same for us in desperate times.

For all of Kyziem's lies, the giant Gren counters him with simple truth. Simple should be the man's moniker, his thoughts appear upon his face before they are spoken, and his actions are always foreshadowed by those preceding. Such simplicity is refreshing though, in the company of my other allies, and is luckily accompanied by a fervent desire to do Iomedae's will; a woman who should never steer him toward evil. If anything, I would say that the man desires to lead others toward good and fortunately has such an honest face that others would follow him. I sense another tendency in the man, that of a malleable mind; his human (although the repugnant dwarf has voiced thoughts to the contrary) mind is already susceptible to persuasion, and he seems quite receptive to the words and emotions of others. I can only hope that Iomedae protects him from evil intentions and that we may be able to guide the hand of a noble heart, for the world is far more complex than the perception of a shallow river of thought.

Some rivers are shallow and others deep. Yet others run deep and clear and some run with the murk of a thousand mires. Horrace is a river so murky that it is impossible to tell it's depth. I have never liked dwarves. Although they claim to see everything as it is and tend away from the foolish fancies of elves or men, Dwarves have become so stagnant in their vision of the world that if all the surface were to be obliterated in the fires of a thousand dragons, they would barely change their ways. Unfortunately, Horrace has been no doubt victim of his people's narrow view of the world and sees at much more obtuse angles than his cousins. For this I have grown to like the diminutive son of Torag although I do not know if he would recognize the god. Instead, the Dwarf claims to follow the will of Phirasma, a fact which confuses me. Although I am little acquainted with the goddess, his tenants seem contradictory to those of his goddess. While the goddess seems little concerned with justice, Horrace seems quite fervent in his judgement of all those whom he kills. I wonder whether the goddess cares little for his motives in dealing out death and healing or if he is blessed by another than who he follows, but the Dwarf surely possesses the powers of the gods, and is formidable because of it.

I suppose time will reveal the truth of my companions. I can see that we have all dealt with the challenges of adversity and still survived. I hope that the coming days or weeks shall show us kindness or if cruel, that we persevere and grow through our pains. In any case, my continued writings shall reveal all.

----Thorain Toradur

ps

We came across a strange omen. A Tatzlwyrm; hiding within the hollow of a tree, barely enough room to slither, I spotted it within sanctuary. I do not know whether it meant me harm, or if it acted in self defense but it sprayed Gren with some debilitating poison, at which point my companions descended upon the beast with weapons drawn. All I could do is watch as the beast was torn limb from limb, vivisected before me. I told my companions that I wanted to inspect the strange creature's anatomy. So I did, as it's innards spilled forth, I burnt my hands in the monster's bile. I dared not tell the others but, from the bile i withdrew the small body of a Kingfisher gripping the wooden shaft of a tree, as such it resembled the scepter of office. This land I know shall make great men, but could consume us. I sense within the lines of magic and fate that we are in the realms of kings, but even kings must be wary for they are only fodder to those above them. In the end, we all are mere mortals.