Gene’s Personal Journal and Adventure log
It was in the early evening that I hurriedly stepped in to the raggedy tavern to escape that cold rain that fell like the Allfather was taking a piss. Even amongst the crowds I noticed right away the man at the table who argued with the bartender noisily and the large white cat at his side. I knew right away that this Northerner would be trouble; what I didn’t realize was that just an hour later I’d be standing on the cold wet cobblestone road about to duel him in the street…
I just bought this journal and I’m already getting ahead of myself; my name is Gene and some weeks ago I was…forcefully ejected from my home and family. Interrupted in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong woman; I grabbed my Masterwork Rapier and leapt from the second story window of an estate. With only my sword and the clothes on my back, I’ve done my best to survive on the road until I came across this dinky little town that I’ve heard had an adventurers guild.
The rain hit suddenly, catching me off guard and with nowhere to go. I did what any sensible person would and pushed my way in to the tavern, managing to talk my way in to a drink even though I had not a coin to my name. It’s funny, isn’t it? To go from such wealth to absolutely nothing so quickly? That obnoxious northern fellow couldn’t keep his mouth shut; I’d dare say he was trying to start something. That must have been the case, because even though he left before me I found him standing outside the tavern waiting to make a point. Thankfully (for him) a guard intervened.
I thought this would be where our paths would split, imagine my surprise to find that he had decided to follow me as if he had suddenly forgotten previous events. Maybe I just don’t understand the northern ways and beliefs, but moments later he was vying for a job with me at the counter of the guild. It was then that we learned we needed to have a broker, somebody that vouched for us. Essentially, we worked for the broker and the broker worked for the guild; simple enough.
I made sure to announce our presence, though it seemed we were easily ignored. A man in the back caught my attention, though before I could say much to him another man approached me; One Marcus, an older bald fellow with a scar across his eye. For such an intimidating figure, you’d never expect him to be so nice. He offered to be our broker, and gave us our first job. We picked up a third in the guild, a Barbarian I should have known better than to trust. We had just started, and already we had made our first mistake.
Wait a moment. Why am I suddenly working with the man I very nearly fought to the death moments ago, with hardly a word to one another? Fucking Northerners.
The job was pretty simple; a caravan of supplies had decided to shortcut through the nearby forest down a secret route. Likely to avoid the legalities of registering cargo and follow the known roads. Somewhere along the lines, it had entirely disappeared and it was out job to find out what had happened to it. There was also a bonus for bringing back as much of the supplies as we could.
We hired a caravan driver to take us northward up Salvation Road, which goes past the forest. We knew the secret route could be seen by hopping out when we spotted the nearby fortress and heading northeastern, which was what he did. I was the first to leap from the carriage, and a few moments later my two companions followed me; having robbed our money back from the poor caravan driver from what I gathered. How disgraceful
Of course, I was the only one in the group to actually spot out hidden path. A few moments later we were in Eslanian
To elaborate, Eslanian is a very well known; the forest spans down near the middle of the continent and separates the north from the south. It’s surrounded by myth and legends and had a high death toll for travelers going through it. This is why people go so far around it to take Salvation road, because the woods are a dangerous mystery, we could see this as we entered. The trees and vines acted as if they were alive, curling around our legs dangerously. We trudged on however and made our way to the nearby clearing without harm.
We found our caravan, destroyed and abandoned. Dead men and horses sprawled about as if it was not enough that they were cut and torn, but not a sign of the cargo. Bandits? It seemed that way at first, certainly. That was until the strange fellow made himself known; a man with pointed ears, dark clothing, and a bow.
There are stories and legends from the travelers that come through here for a race or nation of people who live hidden away here in the woods. My suspicions were confirmed as the man called us humans, as if he were separate from us, and identified himself as belonging to the El’feiyon. It was through discussion with this man that we learned the grim fate of these men. Little green monsters he referred to as greenskins, and he could show us where they camped.
I also noticed our Northerner friend, a fellow who I’ve learned goes by the name Bryeweulf, mentioned Ymir; a pagan god.
True to his word, the El’feiyon fellow took us to the camp of the greenskins, a large gathering of small tents around the face of a cave. I should of expected our Barbarians brain couldn’t process the concept of a plan, as he rushed out headlong in to the open. There were easily twenty of them, little men that came up to maybe my hip and certainly earning the title of greenskin. Fortunately they couldn’t keep up with me, and my sword cut them down with minimal effort.
Bryewulf though was quick to confirm suspicions I already had. It wasn’t his control of the large cat that tipped me off; it was the fire he commanded as if the elements were just at his heel. Pagan magic, he was a druid and now I was certain of it. Between him, the barbarian, and myself the little green skinned monsters were no threat. With the monsters taken care of, it seemed the opportune time to search the camp. That was, until the green monster dog appeared from the cave, held by the chain leashes of two more of the little monsters; which it slaughtered and broke free of.
Even when we outflanked it and dug our weapons in to the creature it still felt like it took a hundred blows to cut the creature down; its skin mended and pulled itself like nothing I had ever seen. Keeping itself healed until Brye managed to remove its head. Once it was dead, and weapon sheathed, we had time to find the weapons. Several crates of them, which we managed to retrieve the entirety of thanks to a rather ingenious use of the nearby tent’s cloth to drag them.
With the help of the forest fellow from before, we found out way out from the forest. Magic and monsters aside, we needed to find a way back to town and we headed towards Salvation road to find a ride back. It was there that the barbarian betrayed us, who would of thought. He attempted to bash me over the head while I was conversing with the driver of a carriage, and if it wasn’t for the quick reactions of both myself and Brye one of us may be dead. A short battle, but a tense one as we cut him down, unfortunately cost us our carriage ride back.
Fortunately, after a few hours of dragging crates we eventually managed to find another ride to town…