1/15/2018 0 Comments Ser Mathius' letter to scarletby ser mathius (Jeremy) | REad Sualiwag's RECAPDear Scarlet, It’s me, Marthius. As I promised, I would send a letter on the night of my arrival in the lands of Summer-port. Perhaps I was a-tad stretching when I told you the waters would be warm, and the sun in plenty; however, I think that I can do real good hear. I understand, I am just an old knight, wrecked in my main-hand, and using my left as if it were dominant; and true, perhaps the line of work is designed and built for a younger generation that does not carry the wounds of so many years of battle. Yet, when I arrived in this damned city of chill and death, I felt alive. Alive, and strong, and like something that I had been missing for so many years has been returned to me. My youth, my liveliness, my energy, all flowing back moments after stepping onto the urban decayed landscape of Summer-port. And true enough, I was needed! You have so much worry that they would shrug off an old knights aid. The opposite had occurred in-fact: entering into the local saloon, one “Thieves’ Tankard” Sualiwag and I were able to lend some help in clearing out several buildings of the savage beast they resided in them, getting furs and boots from the leathers of the local beasts as compensation. Without them, I very much doubt that dear ol’ Sualiwag would be without his feet, and rather with frostbitten stumps. Sure he might complain of the discomfort of clunky old shoes; but I think surely he is getting use to them. In-fact, I saw him forgetting to take them off that night you should have seen the look on his face when he awoke to find them still there, as bright as a tomato! But, as noted, we were certainly needed, and welcomed into the community. There seems to be fifty odd members of the urban ruble- amongst them a band of rather trained adventurers. So much like myself from my youth- I only hope to catch up to there skill with this blasted left hand. Amongst them were elves, half elves, and a lizard-folk of especial interest: Salazar- bannered in black scales, and a-few members of what I could only assume to be a cult known only as “Gaia.” When the group began the trek, the cold was settling in. Our first stop was some plumping company of old, “Your in Good Hands,” A sign of a thumbs up bitten away from the natural decay of time. The door was slightly a-jar, and as we approached the Lizard-folk, Salazar pointed towards me and in and jested me to lead in. He was obviously playing a trick, a joke for the ‘unskilled elder’ that he thought I was. I could only accept with a bow, and lead the party in, loosely stealthing in the suit of chain as I listened for noises. I could hear some things up-stairs, and moved towards the stairwell. At that moment, the rest of my fellow comrades moved in, and were subsequently attacked by some hands guised as props. The battle was over in a blink, Salazar taking quite a beat as I could only draw my blades before the fighting was complete all together. From there, other encounters happened all about- a ghoul breaking through a wall only after I finished sealing the door, a hand escaping through some pipes, and eventually strangle trinkets of miniature toilets in, what could only be recognized as the manager office. After the rooms were clear, the oddities collected, and the doors secured, we decided to take a rest while a-few of our wounded members took a breather. While we rested on the chilly floors of the wooden structure, Salazar and I struck up a conversation. At first, I saw him as little-more than a opportunist seeking to salvage a bare existence in this city- however; when he talked longingly of returning Summer-port to a state of what it was before, I could see in his eyes a truer purpose- a purpose that I felt I was lacking- a legacy project to rebuild, reclaim a city that had been lost for so long. He talked of his love for this city, his hatred of the undead that have claimed it, and then admitted a shocking claim that rubbed me to my core, and convinced me of my new-found task: he had been from the before times. Summer-port was warm and lush, a city of prosperity from where he was, only for his to collapse from the blasted ‘end-times’ that brought the world to his state. I was unconvinced, but the seriousness in his eyes as they spoke in length of what it was before awoke me to his goals. So I asked for us to align, equal partners in reclaiming this realm. He was bewildered at first, asking for me to be a subordinate; however, I pressed for us to be equal masters of this wave of ideology that would shape the course of Summer-port. He agreed- and the Blackscaled Legion was born. The Blackscaled Legion is my legacy, Scarlet, and I know I promised to visit on the seasons; however, it might turn to the yearly visit until I can grow this faction to beyond the realms landscape, and push for liberating this dark-place, and turning it back to the light. The Blackscaled Legion will bring commerce, law and order, and protection to the people of Summerport. For Our Scales Shine Bright in the Darkest of Nights. But… I swear to you, this will not be the last letter I write. I will write to you and tell you all about this strange place- I do not want to worry you so much! So it only seems fair I present you a letter and ship it over whenever I narrowly survive the treachery of this career! Know though that I am as safe as can be: we carry clerics and warriors of this strange cult amongst our roster, and they have proven to be capable healers so far. Out of all my adventures, know true that this one shall be one of the safest! Especially since our next excursion has already been planned: the hunt of a dangerous polar bear, and its hopeful cooperation. That is in a weeks time, and I shall write to you when I have survived with loot in my pocket, and pride in my heart. With love, respect, Your knight, Ser Marthius Dainte As Ser Marthius completed the letter, the old paper and dried ink were rolled- a press of wax bearing the sigil of the Dainte family sealed the paper for proper transport as the old knight stood, and hid away the note. “Writing to Scarlet?” A pipped voice spoke, breaking the silence that Ser Marthius was residing in. Sualiwag, half the size of the Ser, and half the age had entered into the slightly ajar door, and carried a frown on his face. “Yes I am,” the knight spoke, uncomfortable crackles carried in his voice as he pressed down on the rucksacks’ steel pins to seal the pouch the note found itself in. “Marthius…” The halfling spoke, looking away as he too begin to feel uncomfortable, “It’s not your fault.” Marthius began to tear up: shaking his head, he lifted up the rucksack, and without a word, pushed past the halfling, and headed down the staircase to deliver the letter before the last ship sailed out of port.
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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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