The Serpent Kingdoms

Tuile 25th Day. Early Am.
Locathah Ahoy!

My name is Gethstal Dasheel, Cleric of Boccob. It has been a little over a fortnight since I arrived in the port town of Majere charged with investigating strange meteors and capturing one of the rock monsters that seem to spring from the very craters of the meteorites. I have since battled and imprisoned a rock monster with the help of a small group of fellow adventurers, and Boccob has blessed me with enough foresight and luck to charter a ship to Ankhapur to deliver this specimen into the appropriate hands of awaiting mages.

I write this log from the leaking hull of the freighter The Corpulent Maiden as it crawls past the Arnrock. The sailors aboard tell me of small villages of Sanghuin that spot the shoreline of the Arnrock and of a recent eruption that sent them spilling back into the ocean. The Arnrock has captured my curiosity and I have felt a strange sensation in my guts since the rock has entered my sight.

This night the steaming lake we are crossing spewed out a raiding party of Locathah which took the lives of two of this ship’s crew before our party could repel their attack. Grunt, the Elven rogue, in a desperate attempt to save my life threw himself from the very top of the crowsnest trying to buy me some time to heal myself. His attempt failed but I will remember his courage and count him among the more daring of this group. I was also surprised by virtue of this groups willingness to work together when a greataxe [thrown by the female Dwarf Bazinga] split the head of one of my attackers. And before the battle was finished, I witnessed the same Dwarf snap another of the Locathah’s neck with her barbaric hands… only pausing briefly before biting a chunk from it’s lifeless, fishy neck. The mortician and fellow worshipper of Boccob, Jevod, prepared their bodies for burial and we have spent the rest of the night huddled below deck speaking low of our destination and what we will do when we are all on solid ground again.

How I hate the hazardous business of sailing. How I long for the sight of Boccob.
Tuile 21, 746
1000 Uses for Mage Hand

So Alternéah has suggested we keep a diary of our adventures as a sort of log, perhaps in case we’re found dead? I don’t understand the use of that as any skilled mortician would have no trouble finding the identities of such high-profile travelers as ourselves, but whatever makes him happy. My only trouble is finding time to write this without him constantly leaning over my shoulder to correct my spelling or laugh at some ironic musing. Ah well.

I found myself traveling today towards a town that didn’t seem that important to me in the first place. We walked outside of the woods as opposed to through, which I found quite odd considering the shade and comfort the trees would give. Were it not for the dwarf with us (a slightly brutish barbarian named Bazinga, who wears long braids and fails exceedingly at trying to hide her mustache), I think we would have let the leaves shelter us from the sun. But I digress.

After walking for some ways, we came upon some Orcs having trouble with a broken wagon wheel. Bishop approached and helped them pry the wheel out of the rut while…You know, this is all very droll. The rest of my companions did some things to free up this wagon as I contemplated the different uses for Mage Hand…1) Stirring a fine stew. 2) Lacing my boots in the midst of battle. 3) Killing insects.

Some more things were said, some jerky was bought (Orcish jerky? No thank you…), and then we paid a small travelers fee to ride in the back of the wagon. The Orcs gave me a strange metal wand as payment for us helping them out, peppering their speech throughout with racial slurs involving Ogres. Whatever. The rest of our few hour trip passed without incidence, besides Alternéah believing he’d seen something in the woods. Monks…a fine trade to have at your side, but always looking over their shoulder. I guess someone has to.

We arrived in town and left the cart without trouble, the Orcs promising to meet up with us later at a local tavern. We headed off towards said tavern (The Golden Gadget). On our way a local guard named Gestal stopped us to check our passports, which were of course in order. I mention this only because Gestal made a later appearance in the day…a slightly noteworthy one.

The tavern smelled of strong incense and hops, something I hear humans find endearing and “cozy”. A few blood-stains were noticeable on the floor, with rugs thrown haphazardly over to hide. It was a comfortable enough place, littered with local color as well as a large gray skinned Ogre who reeked of outsider just as much as we did. Keep in mind, this was a fairly small town. I headed towards the bar where I haggled with a “delightful” barkeep who, I feel, overcharged me for some ale that was palatable at best. I returned with a round for my companions, as well as a gazetteer entitled the “TNC Newsletter”. A newsletter for adventurers.

A newsletter for adventurers. I had the first laugh of a boring day thinking about that concept…if mother and father knew this existed, I think I would find them well placed in their own morgue. Cause of death? Hilarity.

So we drank for a bit and made small talk, wasting time in this small tavern. The barkeep told us the story of the original owner, a gnome who had vanished years ago whose name I forget because seriously, who remembers gnomish names? Grunt and myself decided to head upstairs to check out our room (which was cozy, albeit gnome-sized) and meet our neighbors.

I returned downstairs to see why my small friend Bishop was drunkenly yelling my name, and talked to him for a few minutes about how “Yes, I got us a room” and “No, I don’t want to watch you flip your knife around” before a human charged down the stairs and accused us of stealing. A petty thief? No thank you.

But it is late, and I’ve much to recover from. I’ll continue this in the morning after nursing my wounds from that damned metal minotaur.

Boccob be praised!

-Jevod Mournbearer


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