9/22/2017 0 Comments back from the brinkby SHAENA TOSSCOBBLE (lisa s.) 19-22 SS19 Springswell, 1 A.E. I’ve been cooped up at the Black River Tavern for over a week. I had watched adventurers come in and go out, but no one seemed to need a perky halfling among their party. And so, I practiced my trade, learning a few new tricks along the way. One evening, the innkeeper Hurlee took me aside and rewarded my day’s work with some of her own private reserve Helles. It seems she is quite the brewer. The ale was certainly a step above anything coming from the Albannic region these days. On another day, I was commiserating with Feinthald about the trials of being a bard. He’s really not so bad a man if you can overlook his blatant lack of talent and overstated self-importance. He told me of a story he learned from a mad halfling named Pascale. Pascale told of a portal the Feywilde plane to the north in the marshes of the Black River region. It opened only during high summer. From the way he described Pascale, I question the truth of this rumor. But it was enough to bring Feinthald to this backwater tavern in the hopes of finding adventurers who would take him to the portal when the season was right. I wasn’t the only one spending time in the Tavern though. Along the way I met Liam Buckham, another half-elf of Diwata heritage. He is known as a researcher on control of magical arts. Something about him reminds me of a tale I once heard of a young child whose soul was sold to a demon. Over time, he lost control of the power within him, killing his parents. Could this be that child? I can’t help but worry what will happen when he is called on to cast spells in the field. I also met a stout halfling, clad head to heal in heavy armor and bristling with weapons. He has a reputation among the fishermen and ship crew for slaying a pirate captain. Finally, a new shipload of adventurers arrived, including a human sailor armored in the hides of sea creatures. His name was Haldor, his cinnamon and salt beard bristled over the top of his breast plate as he spoke.
To enliven the new arrivals, I regaled the Tavern with the story of my first adventure into the bayou. After my tale had ended, these three approached, surprisingly eager to hear more about the beautiful Sorrels we had found. We agreed that I would guide them to the Sorrels at first light, in the hopes that they could be tamed and trained. 20 Springswell, 1 A.E. After a healthy helping of Hurlee’s porridge we were on our way. Haldor and the others purchased two more canoes, significantly depleting Sactonel’s supply. Then we headed north, retracing my previous journey. As a sailor, Haldor was well equipped to chart where we were going. Throughout the trip, he took measurements and readings using tools I had had only seen, and was not entirely certain where he stored them all. We proceeded up the river and past the tributary, stopping for lunch before we found the first of the trail markers. Haldor once again put his skills on display, downing a Great Heron so large it was enough for the entire party to enjoy for the rest of the day. As we waited for the heron to cook, Liam spotted the blue-green fin of a Sahuagin gliding past us in the shallow water. The “Terror of the Seas”, Sahuagin are known to attack ships, sailors, and settlements in coastal regions, killing and pillaging without a care for their prey. They have even been known to attack Sanctus in large raiding parties. The fish warrior rose to the surface across the river from our camp. Haldor and I let loose quick shots, wounding it and sending it hurrying into the brush. We decided it best not to wait for it to return with more of its kin, so we broke camp quickly and carried on our way. We quickly found the trailhead Lindir had carved for us and turned away from the river. We decided to camp just off the river and finish cooking our feast, spending the night a quarter-mile in on the trail among a stand of light wood. The night passed uneventfully. 21 Springswell, 1 A.E. The next morning, we were back in the canoes, paddling beside the marked trail toward the oak forest. We were able to row right up to where the Sorrels had been eating 10 days before. The fallen tree stripped of its branches was still visible, as were the tracks the giant lizards left behind. We follow them to the northeast to a pond full of lily pads. Across the pond, the Sorrels had made their nest of stripped sticks and twigs. The smaller sorrel sat in the next. The larger was protective, keeping watch and occasionally stopping to nuzzle its mate. We watched them from across the pond for a couple of hours until they ambled off to the east. We took the opportunity to investigate the lair. I crawled into the nest, eager to see if there were any eggs or babies that we could take and train. The nest was cold. All I could find were 14 feathers and the stripped arm of a Bullywug with fleshy hand still attached. Haldor confirmed that the teeth marks were signs of a defensive strike, though. The sorrels don’t seem to eat meat at all. We heard rustling as the Sorrels returned, so we withdrew from the nest and continued to observe. We spent several more hours observing and interacting with the noble beasts. It turns out, this was the exact same pair I had seen with Tharrus and Lindir before! The larger, more observant Sorrel was male. The smaller one was his female mate. With each foray, we got closer. When the Sorrels are nervous they hiss and flare their feathers. But they aren’t immediately hostile. Then, as Haldor went for one more branch, he was ambushed by 4 dark forms that dropped from the trees. These bats with sharp proboscises, called Stirges all went after Haldor. One latched itself onto his torso as the other three swooped around his head. Liam stepped up and unleashed three magic missiles, downing three of the Stirges in one mighty cast. Haldor swept the last one from his chest with a mighty swing of his sword. We stopped for a rest so that Haldor could gather his bearings. I helped him with a soothing tale, then we went back to courting the Sorrels. I decided to use our resources to try to convince the Sorrels we were friends. I used the feathers I had taken from their nest to disguise Roscoe as a Sorrel and sent him in with the biggest, tastiest branch we could find. It worked. Roscoe was able to get within reach of the Sorrel, all but touching it. We decided we had tried the Sorrels’ patience enough for one day and headed back to the Tavern, camping once again along the river. We arrived on 22 Springswell, 1 A.E.
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AuthorThe journal entries here are provided by the active player characters participating in the Detroit Marches. Archives
July 2018
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