Lost Lands Mega-Campaign

Day One

"Tonight I live again"- Makirut's leatherbound journal

Muir’s Day- Returned to Bard’s Gate.

After a fashion, it is Tent. Nestled against the fortifications are the fornications of barbarians and traders. Copulation produces jangling metal, squelching knee-deep mud, and the permanent aroma of incense and smoked meats. Among the Longhunter rangers it is home and it is a foreign county. Today there are no deep elves in attendance of my murder.

Didn’t tell the captain about the ledger in the end. Would only try to talk me out of it. He is al’right. `Was going to the wanderer’s camp to look for information when Karl turned up. Met Mama Bobo finally. Turns out the whole Wandering thing is a bit of a sham. Just a diviner of a kind. She recognized us. Or at least she appeared to. Not sure if I believe any of it. If I believe it, I don’t trust her. There was, if you believe it, a monk on the road outside. He was about to duel some brute and we stepped in to referee. As far as duels go, it was far more civil than I expected it to be, lasted half as long as it should have, and only engaged about a quarter of the brawlers it could have. Are all monks bent?

This fellow – Okrin Goodspeed is his name – he tried to fight a duel in tent city. If this is our guy, I fear it may take more than the powers of Karl and myself to ensure his delay of inhumation.

I stuck the foolish cad – the brute- and he seemed to settle down. Still, things were not adroitly concluded. The tree folk discouraged immediate bloodshed, and yet I am now more eager to be moving on before this catches up with us.

Those treefolk Morrigan and Cian call themselves the Tuath and they play at being royalty. By my measure they are free and open at being good people, so it is either a scheme or their livelihoods within berg will be with all likelihood swift and loud affairs.

There is also a ranger to travel with us. He goes by Caramir and I mark him warily. He may be the most dangerous of our group. When I asked around Ft. RV, none knew him, and he carries a weather-worn bow and arrows with midnight black fletching. He is calloused as an expert, and unknown. Writ in so many words – he is worth watching closely.

Karl for his part is oddly unreadable. I can feel the change in him since we last met. We haven’t had a chance to talk much, but it seems the gods want me in Endhome for more than the old man’s ledgers. It seems – it seems dangerous and foolish to indulge them in this. There is talk of a heavy bandit presence on the roads – heavier than usual before the harvest caravans. The fortune teller promised gold, now there is a bounty for the Greenleaf bandits, and whispers of something else.

Mother-Merchant is more than he appears. She is willing to lay out a symphony for certain papers. I know where they might be, but I don’t have enough together to run off just yet. Fie upon coincidence. It seems as’if the whole song has but one refrain. Which echoes in my mind.

The Cantris Accord, my fate adored, cut silver cord.”

Where did I read that? Bard’s Gate seems like it was a lifetime ago, and I don’t know if that is a bridge that can ever be crossed again. We set out tomorrow morning and there is only little time for research. My best hope is that no one else from our group is running their mouth off about our trip out in the morning.

To put my tensions to rest, I will say we appear to have a strong group for the voyage assembled. Wizards’ brains and spiritual warriors. They seem insouciant to my presence on the whole. Names, backgrounds, baggage to be left behind. We will go to Endhome and then we will part ways, it seems. We will be quick, quiet, and safe – or we will all be thick and quite dead.

I haven’t lasted all of this to die on the road. I trust the gods by me swear more purpose than that.

Addendum:: Rumors this morning that the worshipers of Muir want to take their old haunted ruin back. I can’t imagine what they could attempt with the place. It might take a miracle.

Windsong Nomad’s Son



Day One
DM_Grimmy Makirut