Episode #15: Walls and Birds

From the Ashen Codex of Lady Penitence

In the name of the Raven Queen, I swear that what I set forth here is true.

My ruse to pose as an ally of the cultists did not, admittedly, go as well as I had hoped. Dissembling has never really been my strong suit.

After a fierce battle at the top of the stone tower, we prevailed—the eladrin seems to have a few new tricks up his voluminous sleeves, as well as a mailed glove he didn't seem to possess when I first met him—but the halfling was practically gutted.

After the slaughter, we resolved to free the animals that had been destined for the altar. The strangely-spotted cat we carried down the tower steps, still caged. When loosed, the beast took little note of us, but padded off into the jungle and shimmered. Possibly a creature of the Feywild? It is hard to keep track of what belongs here and what does not. We are certainly the aliens here.

The flying behemoth we loosed from its bonds as well. I am somewhat indifferent to the utility of these actions, but my companions seem to feel strongly about it.

To the north lies the wall that we must cross to reach the plain we seek.

We cautiously approached the grouping of villages that lay at the foot of the wall—which together forms the town of Tanaroa—but saw there wasn’t quite enough cover to sneak in undetected in the light of afternoon. Moving towards the beach, we found the same story: nothing to hide us from the guard towers on the wall. Circumventing the wall via the water was also unfeasible; it sloped out and down into the bay. None of us were particularly eager to revisit shark-infested waters.

A nighttime exploration of the town was agreed upon, with the possible goal of freeing some of the slaves to create a distraction that would allow us to pass through the gate. But until then: what if a patrol found the bloody scene at the top of the tower and news of the massacre came back to the town? We decided to lay in wait just off the path to watch for returning patrols, taking shifts while some of us rested and tried to recover. But the jungle was not exactly conducive to meditation: every few moments, we were slapping away insects or shooing away snakes. In the end, none of us got enough rest.

Near the end of my watch, I saw figures coming down the hill from the watchtower at a rapid pace. Four unmounted soldiers, and one cultist riding a red drake. I hurried back and roused my companions, and we rushed after the foes. Dead men tell no tales (I actually have had a piece of ceremonial jewelry with this phrase inscribed—a gift from another Raven Queen adept; long story—but that was lost in the shipwreck).

Despite the painful shrieking attacks of the foes—and the venomous bite from the drake, which Elody and Edrathior overcame—we overcame them and made a gift of a few more souls to Our Lady Below. I hope she puts them somewhere uncomfortable.

We took a little time to hide the evidence of our bloody work, and then made straight for the beach to get some actual rest and gauge our next move. The shifter had made a secure camp that was actually quite comfortable, though I was so exhausted that a shallow trench would have felt like a royal featherbed. Half-meditating, half-sleeping, I soon hit upon the secret of the oil that the phanaton had given me—it was Ghost
Oil! If I coat my blade with it, I can pierce the ephemeral for a brief time. So in addition to strange lizard creatures, spangled cats, and undead abominations, there are likely phantoms somewhere on this island. Praise be.

This is the Gruff at his happiest.

A few of the others had also reached the truth of some of their strange gifts as well—the leather and metal contraption the little creatures had given to the punchy monk turned out to be a ki-focusing device, and the eladrin’s rings turned out to be a matched set that could call out to its companion ("rings of bonded defense," he called them), drawing one’s ally to you in a time of need. It was rapidly decided that the halfling, who courts death almost as much as an adept of the Raven Queen, should wear the ring, while the Avandra-serving cleric should take the other.

After our rest, we were set to abandon our original plan of exploring the town and just climb the wall, but there is some spell that makes the lower parts of the barrier unscalable. Back to the town it was.

Upon closer approach, we saw structures similar to those in Mora, the first village we'd encountered two days ago, with another, larger ziggurat in the center. Instead of a cultist with a cauldron, the summit of this ziggurat was surmounted by a giant buzzard that stank of abomination. Under cover of darkness, the monk, the halfling, and I snuck into westward village—the village of the Sea Turtle Clan.

As we hid in the shadow of one of the poor hovels ringing the village, we glimpsed Olman slaves toiling over strange rocks, trying to split them in two. A group of armored figures stood off in the distance, but weren’t readily visible. I borrowed the spyglass from the halfling, only to see…

Halderek! One of the Thyatian knights that was a passenger aboard the Sea Sceptre. But altered now. He bore blue markings and stank of vile sorcery. I remembered the man as a bit of an arrogant ass, but not unskilled at magic. Worse and worse, he had nine others with him, knights and squires. I remember them from the voyage.

The others tired of waiting for us to signal them across, and began stealing across the no-man’s land in the darkness. Our own Thyatian knight seemed to be crawling along relatively quietly, but some small noise caught the attention of the monstrous bird, which flew out to investigate. Not wanting to make a meal for the undead, the knight rose and began battling the bird. Elody and Gregor soon ran out to assist him, while I hung back, waiting to strike at the knights that would surely be drawn to the clamor…

Were they not suddenly attacked by the suicidal, thrice-damned halfling! Annoyed, I rushed to help. Even with the hovel providing some cover, one of their archers got an arrow in me. I charged toward Halderek, challenging him—perhaps there was some of his former self still lurking beneath the taint of necromancy that clung to him. I still do not know exactly the nature of the abominable spells used by the island cultists. Halderek seemed to consider us, then commanded us to drop our weapons if we wanted to parley.

As we considered Halderek's offer, I felt a terrible burning sensation in my throat. A very bad sign. He may be coming for me again.

I am nearing the end of what pages I have remaining in this diary—I shall, hopefully, take up my account at a later date.

In Her Name,

Penitence