Praise be to Lolth! My Queen has shown her favor for me again. She’s sent an emissary to be my companion, a beautiful spider, who I’ve named Elliya Lolthu “Test me Lolth”, in Her honor. Such a gift fills me with delight I haven’t felt since the Temple. Surely this is a reward for my part in the death of the wretched surface elf Lex, of the Blood Hawks. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
My companions and I had a few days to ourselves before the adventure guides were ready to meet us. Beskar was busy at the forge with his Dwarven compatriots and has crafted some wondrous weapons and armor. There’s something alien about the magic he works as a smith, perhaps his babble about galaxies and “The Force” has some credence after all. I should make time to learn more, perhaps these powers could be useful to the Spider Queen. C’Nut spent his time gathering stories from Martack, and appears to have learned much of the surrounding areas to the north where we are likely to travel.
The Stormwrack is a region shrouded in perpetual fog and battered by unending storms. He told of sleet, sea stacks, and something of an island in the domain of sorcerers. It sounds like a bizarre place, dotted with isolated villages of typical surface wretches but also monstrous folk. Perhaps even Illithid.
The Witchwood used to contain many settlements, but the region has been smothered for decades by a sleeping curse. Fey are second only to surface elves of those my people loath; spilling some of their blood would surely please Lolth. Perhaps her touch is already there, since there was talk of spiderwebs enshrouding the forest. Martack spoke of a poisonous swap and a massive ravine, plunging even to the underdark. The Witchlight Inn could make a fair first target to reach.
The Iron Vale has rolling hills contrasted with icy mountain peaks. Giants, dwarves, and nomadic surface elves lurk there. Truely, enemies abound in every direction here on the surface. There was a warning that cursed ice storms block all mountain passes in or out of the region, meaning no word has passed from there in decades. Martack said to the north of the Iron Vale there is an ancient dwarven settlement containing a sacred forge, and perhaps mines that delve into the underdark. If the mountains are truly impassable, perhaps we could reach this place via the underdark through the Witchwood; surely there is a connection.
The last region is the most mysterious; the Savage Steps are home to centaurs and some arrangement of floating islands. Nothing more is known.
I spent my time getting to know Stacey of House Orm better. Her position of power on the council is real, but perhaps less valuable than I initially hoped. She is concerned with the welfare of the town, but in a distracted, meddling kind of way. Painting Trade Town as an adventure destination appears to be just the latest in a string of schemes to make something of this stagnant place. Nevertheless, I’ll continue to present myself as her friend and ally.
In contrast, the deep gnome Steve Xorn is proving to be genuinely useful. He had a favor to ask, that I purloin a particular brass chest from a recently arrived wagon in exchange for some glasses to protect my eyes from the dazzling brightness of the sun. It turned out to literally be child’s play to acquire, and now the glasses are mine; I can finally ditch these horrid wide brimmed hats.
Earlier today the Blood Hawks made an abrupt appearance in town; this is the adventuring group Stacey warned of during our brunches. They rejected her deal and struck out on their own without a guide. They got what they deserved. One of their group, Jarro the human wizard, was struck down by some undead monster called the Gatekeeper in Bridgewater. They dragged him, blood soaked and cursed as he was to the Old Mill demanding healing. Beskar tried to stabilize Jarro, and the Shrinekeeper made some attempts at healing as well. The others in the group, twin elven rogues and a dwarven barbarian were of little use. It was irrelevant in the end, as Jarro succumbed to his curse and became some vicious variant of a zombie.
During the melee, two tavern girls were killed, one of which also turned after being cursed herself. I killed Jarro myself at least twice, while the turned tavern girl ripped one of the surface elves to shreds. In the confusion or just from stupidity, the dwarf attacked Beskar; the perfect opportunity. I dominated his feeble mind and commanded him to slay the other elf. Yet he escaped, but not for long. Your blood will be Lolth’s, Dex, the next time I see you. The dwarf returned and was summarily killed, and that was that. C’Nut’s magic was surprisingly useful, and he has some way to enliven Beskar and myself, steadying our hands and nerves. Beskar is a powerful ally as well, it was clear his divine magic was pivotal in keeping the undead down.
Even more surprising, my companions didn’t bat an eye at the killing of the Blood Hawks in addition to the zombies. I expected resistance from their surface dweller “morality”, but nothing came of it. Instead they were more than eager to riffle through the slain’s bodies for loot. Chet was away throughout, but him as an unknown aside, perhaps the time has nearly come to reveal more of my identity to my companions. It may be easier to do so on my own terms once we’ve left Trade Town on our adventure, instead of my hand being forced by circumstance.
I must remain guarded, but events continue to move in my favor. Elliya Lolthu.
