Sigmund’s Journal

This was written as an addendum to Dakota Irish’s short module called The King of The Fair.

Entry #1

My parents are leaving for the capital, and the old apothecary is now in my care, I shall do my best to uphold my parents’ work for the town, even if there are still recipes I’m unsure about. Hopefully I can pick up some new recipes from tradesfolk soon enough. I’ll start by taking stock, so I know what I’ll be needing to run the shop smoothly.

Entry #5

These Apple Tree Mushrooms are interesting, while the taste is somewhat bitter on it’s own, it does seem to actually act as a kind of fruity sweetener for the more regular potions. So far it doesn’t seem to hold any remedial effects in the potions, but that might come down to the type of mixing. I shall stride to research this further, whenever I have an excess amount of supplies.

Entry #17

I have received a letter from my mother this day, my father has passed and is being buried in the capital. She says that he spoke of some historical research that he was partaking in relation to Ballydorey and it’s Puck Fair. Supposedly there’s a darker reason to why the town have remained untouched by bandits and raiders for so long. Mother didn’t know where father’s notes were left, she would search through his items in their new home, but urged me to look through some of the older books on the shelves. Thankfully summer is fairly calm when it comes to the need for an apothecary.

Entry #29

I have spoken to some of the village elders, but have mostly been met by ignorance, or even hostility. The old man McCleary told me to stop poking into things, that I had no understanding of, clearly the message was to not research something that wasn’t a problem. Others were more forthcoming, telling me what little they know. The Puck Fair have, or so it seems, always been named that. One suggested it was named after a long-dead king or ruler named Puckard the Bright. I have my doubts to this, as, if knowledge serves me right, Puckard’s rule was several hundred miles from here. I suppose it could have been started by travellers, but I find it unlikely.

Entry #33

Finally a breakthrough! I found my father’s notes, tugged in between a book about calcinator maintenance, and the “Living Ingredients III: Frogs & Snakes”. I’ve had no need to look there, as the calcinator was one of the first books I memorized, and there haven’t been any snakes seen in these parts for the better part of several centuries. Father’s idea seemed to stem in a pact of some sort, with a creature not of this realm. I shall have to seek guidance on such matters. I work more in plants, herbs, and roots than in magic and the tethers between this plane and others. Maybe the Cleric will be able to give me some pointers.

Entry #34

I’ve managed to narrow the likely suspects down, it seems very unlikely that this is the work or contract of a fiend, and I think a celestial would not need to bind good-hearted, faithful citizens. It is most likely a Fey creature, bound to serve the town somehow. I doubt many creatures would accept being bound in service for as long as this one though.

I have spoken with Brighid, who listened intently to my theory. She said that the crypts of the temple holding the dead of the town for generations, get… “lively”, the dead stirs, particular around harvest and the Puck Fair. That can’t be a coincidence. I’ll gather knowledge on the fey creatures, perhaps if I can more precisely determine the specific creature, I can help save the town from a doom of the undead.

Entry #36

The Puck Fair is in a month, and the “King of the Fair” is essential. I have found the creature to likely be a Púca, a shapeshifter of a malicious nature. It seems the yearly sacrifice of the goat, rebinds the Púca to the town’s service, but surely this contract would weaken over time. The thing is, I don’t know where Púca is physically bound, somewhere in town surely, but where? Perhaps Brighid knows, she maintains the crypts and have lived for a while already.

Entry #37

I have constructed cages meant for fey creatures, as well as a brass lantern. If I have configured the lantern correctly, it should be able to serve as homunculi for the shapeshifter, if destroyed in this prison, the Púca SHOULD be destroyed for good. Otherwise it might just seek another host. I just hope my efforts aren’t too little, too late.

Borador’s Request

Clan mothers, clan fathers, honoured Elder Council, esteemed Thane of Clan Goldhand.

On my mission to finding the Tiefling Letari, for the matter of clearing the debt, to which I shall adhere from mentioning any further, as to avoid further the grief among us all, I have acquired a partly owned steading in the city of Waterdeep. I, alongside the folks of which I have made acquaintances of mine, and whom I trust, have signed the deed to a manse, known as the Trollskull Manor, in the city’s North Ward. The manse is in a rather poor state, in its interior in particular, needing a complete renewing of all furniture, several floorboards removed and replaced, and perhaps a change needed of the windows. The outer walls are, however in a decent state, and the manse isn’t about to collapse in the coming future decades.

Of the three stories, as well as an expandable basement, I find the ground floor and entry to be of most interest. Here once was a modest tavern, which I believe a capable person could once more turn into a venture, that our clan vault could see trade and wealth coming from in the future. A consul to the Clan could secure greater trade agreements with nobility and some of the many traders of the city. With the tavern restored, and maybe with supply of our finer meads and ales, I feel assured that these factors could help smoothing out a trade agreement in the Clan’s favour. This is the secondary cause for my formal request.

My first and foremost reason is that I find myself in an unfortunate shortage of coin, my mission is not compromised because of this, yet, but a shortage of funds will be quite the detriment to my mission going forward. If I may be so bold as to acquiring a larger sum, I could hire artisans (of which the city has plenty of in high regard) to start the refurbishment of the establishment.

As a report on my mission, I have not yet located the whereabouts of the Tiefling Letari, but I’m quite certain that she is in the city, somewhere. I am working towards establishing a chain of contacts among the city’s more influential nobles and merchants, should the need arise, I should be able to call upon them to activate their contacts. Apart from the Cleric Ulawa, none of my travel companions know exactly what my mission is yet, as to avoid knowledge of the plight of our Clan becoming too widespread.

I remain, in Trust, in Strength, in Stone
Borador the Diviner

Factions on magic

Magic is, through many fantasy realms and stories, quite an important factor. Sometimes its use is barely noticed, being so common that you kind of expect it. Sometimes, magic is shunned for whatever reason, and hardly ever witnessed. Either way you look at it, magic is divisive, and expanding upon this, can make magic appear more nuanced in your stories.

In this writing, I will put forth and generally describe some generic factions, that you can be inspired by, when writing your own world. In this I’ll also give examples of who could typically be a part of this faction. I will also make some pointers on how a society where each faction is a majority, can appear. Finally I will put the factions up in a larger “how does this faction work with that faction” analysis. Note that these are being written with a system like Dungeons and Dragons 5E in mind, but can easily be tweaked into other systems and formats.

Unless specifically mentioned, “magic” refers more commonly to “Arcane magic”. This is the type of magic that wizards, sorcerers, warlocks, and bards are capable of, and is often considered as more “raw”. The difference between this type of magic, and that of priests (for example), often called “Divine magic”, can also be seen as Arcane magic is more taught, like a skill, whereto Divine magic is gifted from nature or divine beings.

The Puritans

The Puritan Faction considers magic as a “dangerous skill”, and thus it should only be used by those with extensive training. For some Puritans, this even includes magic used by healers. The Puritans dislike open use of magic, unless it is necessary for the moment, arguing for the safety of the common folk and livestock. The Puritans do not mind magical academies, just as long these schools teach with responsibility. Naturally, any time there is a magical mishap, Puritans will be reinforced in their belief, and neutral folk might be more inclined to agree with their cause.

Puritans will regard magical items and artefacts, with the same level of distrust as magic users, preferring instead that these items be kept safe from falling into the wrong hands, and only used in utmost emergencies, by expert individuals, of course. These items should never be available to the public, and the knowledge of their very existence should not be handed out easily, if at all. It is important to note that Puritans aren’t opposed to the idea of magic, or to it’s use, they merely want it performed by people that can be trusted with it, and that trust takes time to build.

In societies with a strong Puritan presence, you might find that talk of magic is frowned upon. While typically not fully outlawed, it is preferred that magic is kept within well-sheltered academies. If a society, like a village, is not large enough to encompass such a facility, you’d find that the civilians will estrange you and distance themselves. Local law enforcement might inform you that it’s best, for your safety of course, to keep such things out of public ear-shot. You will usually always find some that lean towards Puritanism in any, even smaller, settlement. Unless they, as individuals or through a backing of their social peers, sit in a position of authority, they will typically not break other standard laws to change things. At most, they’ll only grumble in conversation about it.

In places with magical academies, Puritans are likely less grouchy about the talk of magic, seeing as there is a place for such talk, though they would prefer that you didn’t talk of magic use in the tavern or at the market square. The academies themselves would typically not hold many members, as few would have the patience to earn the seniority needed to be accepted by the broader society, and even then, most Puritans would rather not want to deal with magic users. Practices on the verge of magic, like alchemy and tinkering are also viewed with suspicion, though related areas like herbalism and engineering are generally accepted. It is likely that a Puritan society, over time will come to be more favorable of magic.

The Puritan view of magic stems from a general conservatism, and may be rooted in common superstition. As such, any one who aren’t likely to interact with people who use magic, can be a Puritan. But Puritanism can also stem from a point of experience, like a grand wizard having seen one too many apprentices blowing themselves up, due to mishandled spellcasting, thus arguing for caution with their younger peers.

Puritans are not seen as extremist by most, rather as cautious and perhaps ill-informed (by those more favorable towards magic), or as vague and cowardly (by those who oppose magic more vehemently), and can usually, albeit begrudgingly, be brought to a discussion about ongoing crises involving the use of magic.

The Fanatics

Fanatics take a hard stance on magic, and will not accept it in their societies. Not even if an individual is exceptionally trained and would benefit the society with their abilities. Magic is bad (for whatever reason), and if you’re trying to inquire into it, you’re most likely bad as well. Magic items should either be destroyed (preferably), or hidden so well away, that they are forgotten about entirely.

Coming across Fanatical groups can be dangerous, depending on how well they are lead. A well-lead Fanatic group might warn those around them, to avoid further tension, whereto a poorly lead group might just attack on sight, even without knowing if there’s magic involved or not.

It is, most likely, very rare for Fanatics to be a majority in almost any kind of society, regardless of its size. This is largely due to how intertwined magic and fantasy realms are with one another. But Fanatics can still hold a large presence in larger societies. In such cases, Fanatics are usually grouped up in smaller vigilante-like groups, striking out against areas or persons with connection to magic. In more mild cases, this is as simple as tagging a steading with graffiti, or breaking windows with rocks with threatening messages tied to them. However, if a Fanatic group is devoted enough or bold enough, they might even go as far as arson or assassination attempts, sending a clear message to the broader public, even if one of their own has to suffer jail-time or execution for their act.

Fanatic cells can exists down to the single individual, again, their activities depends on the boldness of these cells. Odds are that a very active Fanatic cell isn’t likely to last very long, as their extreme views tend to set them on edge with the rest of a regulated society. It is possible for a group of Fanatics to be exiled for their views, which could lead to them settling somewhere new, where they could flourish and establish their laws fitting their views.

An interesting thing about the Fanatics, is that they come in two main variants. The Generalist Fanatic wants all magic, regardless of it’s source or intention, gone, whereto the Religious Fanatics wants all magic, that isn’t related to their faith, gone. The latter option can even have sub-divisions too. Some, Religious Fanatical, groups might accept all kinds of faith-based magic, just as long as the faith is “good”, whereto others take the more divisive stand, that ALL magic, apart from that of their own faith, is bad.

Fanatics can come from any walk of life, and is usually caused by listening to sermons or teachings by another Fanatic member. These spoke-persons are typically well-known to the broader society, and, while most people keep a safe distance, travelers and merchants might not have this knowledge, thus being able to spread the message. Combine this political spark with someone already not fond of magic, and you might have created a Fanatic.

The Fanatic is an extremist when it comes to magic, and their volatile nature makes them hard to ally with, even for factions that seek to restrain or limit the use of magic. Even the Religious Fanatic will find that fellow acolytes and worshippers, who share their religion, are unlikely to want anything to do with the Fanatic.

The Feudalists

The Feudalist Faction is similar to the Puritans in many ways, but see magic more as a “tool of power”, and thus should only be used by those in power, i.e. the nobility and ruling classes. In the more extreme cases, magic should be reserved only for the, singular, ruler of the land, and anyone else practicing magic, is essentially looking to coup, and can thus be tried for treason and conspiracy.

A Feudalist is typically a part of this nobility themselves, seeking to benefit from this outlook, as magic can also be a source of income, especially when it comes to magical items. If a noble has little or no understanding of magic, they can, per the Feudalist views, sanction the people in their employ to hold and use this magic “for them”. A sanctioned spellcaster is similar to a court wizard in that regard, though they aren’t expected to teach their skills on to the employer. If a noble challenges another noble to a duel, sanctioned spellcasters could be forced to take that fight, instead of the noble. This, according to the Feudalists, is acceptable, as it is the noble that holds power.

Feudalists do not care for wizarding schools, unless these are funded by a noble family, for the sake of seeking employ with said family, once fully trained. In that sense, sanctioned spellcasters become a status symbol just as much as ornate artworks and expensive manors. The schools themselves also take any earning, from services or entry fees, to the founding family.

For a Feudalist noble to get his views through, other nobles or perhaps someone higher up, would have to share the Feudalist mindset. This makes it very hard for smaller Feudalist groups to persist, and in places where the Feudalists do hold power, it tends to be a rather oppressive rule, as the lust for power is corrupting, causing paranoia in the noble, fearing that the peasants and citizens will rise up, unseat them, and take their riches. A singular Feudalist might hold on to these values, but if the larger society doesn’t agree, the smart noble would just keep their head and opinions down.

These nobles would prefer the more regular mercenary (or hired bandits), over adventurers, who might just get the idea of taking the noble’s magical items for themselves. If wandering merchants come within the vicinity of the Feudalist noble, said merchant would likely be asked (or dragged) to a meeting with the noble, just so that no magical items or trinket should happen to fall into the hands of those deemed unworthy.

Feudalists might commonly agree amongst each other to the eye of the public, but personal grudges, old family feuds, or just plain, old jealousy, means that they’d often more than happily undercut each other, if not outright have each other killed, to attempt to acquire ever more wealth and power for themselves. It does not take much magic used poorly, to turn a regular noble, into a Lich.

The Libertarians

Libertarians care little about magic, neither for nor against it, and would consider outlawing it as more of a bureaucratic hassle, than a meaningful law for the society. In this light, Libertarians see no reason to want to limit the use of magic, or who can learn it. The individual is free to make their own choice on the matter, or not, if they never make their mind up.

While many Libertarians would probably argue, as a thing they technically should be for, that if you’re capable of burning your neighbour’s house down with a fireball, then it’s essentially up to you (or your neighbour taking the first move) to whether or not you’re actually going to do it, most Libertarians set the boundaries for their lax law system, at personal health and property. This is likely to avoid societies degrading into total anarchy and chaos. Though with that said, if a Libertarian has secured their home, values, and personal safety, they might be considerably more in favour of a more limitless Libertarianism, where you can do to others as you wish and vice versa.

As such, Libertarians tend to be of noble steading, not necessarily with use of magic themselves. You might also find thieves in favour of this idea, if everything’s allowed, then you can be sure that your items of value, might not be yours for very long. This is part of the reason why Libertarians are generally not a majority anywhere, though a single noble, residing over a smaller town, might follow through on Libertarian standards of living for the rest of their peers. Libertarianism often clashes with, in particular, Puritanism and Feudalism, who seeks more to control who can use magic. But it’s apathetic baseline does not appeal to the more pro-magic groups either.

The Cautious Magi

The Cautious Magi seek a broader acceptance of magic, and sees magic as a gift to everyone who wants it. Although that doesn’t inheritly sound very cautious, the Magi (as they are more commonly known) do attempt to only consider “less evil”, mainly from the School of Necromancy, spells as being actual gifts. The more notorious members of the Magi wishes to ban any use of Necromancy out right, as Necromancy is perhaps the easiest School of magic to point a finger at, To most members of the Cautious Magi, however, the debate is not that black and white, especially not when it comes to entire schools.

Rather, and perhaps more nuanced, the Magi wishes to hold discussions about the uses, and possible intent, of each spell. The Magi fully admits that magic, like any weapon, can be used for ill, as well as for good. One might hurl a spell of fire against a group of raiding marauders in order to save a settlement, just as one could hurl said fire against civilians. As such, the Magi are, for the most part, also willing to work alongside Necromancers, if it will benefit society in the longer run.

The Cautious Magi’s idea of avoiding Necromancers (or hedge wizards and the like) from sprouting, is by positively reinforcing the use of “non-evil” magic. The nuances and the intent behind a spell can be quite subtle, but the Magi sees them as very important when it comes to determine if a caster is considered as bad or not. This also means that, unless they are talking with one another or with someone of similar values and understanding of magic, they are unlikely to even mention spells that they, through lenghty discussions, have deemed as “bad”. The Magi thus go out of their way to hide, or destroy, anything that might lean into a specific spell, be it an artefact or a text. Under the tuteledge of arch wizards, apprentices will spend hours, days, and even weeks, going through books and scrolls, editing, catalogueing, and determining if this work should be destroyed, or just kept out of reach.

While the Magi does not wish anyone to know of the actual spell of Raise Dead, they would not destroy or edit a text, in which raising of the dead was mentioned, though they would wipe any mentions of specific ritual components, or phrases chanted during. The Magi, while focusing more on the “learned” magic, typically wizards, they do revere those with a natural inclanation towards use of magic. Obviously, they are less than keen, if this natural ability coms from a potentially shadowy contract with some semi-deity.

To the Magi, anyone who wants to learn more about magic, and learn how to use it, is more than welcome, regardless of the social caste, work, or race, though they will not force magic onto those that want no part of it. On this point they clash with Puritans the most, seeing as the Puritans want a more strict control on magic, though Puritans can, usually, appreciate that the Magi at least have the decency to not just consider all magic as good.

The Anthropoedians

Anthropoedic views are fairly rare in almost any societies, at least in any sizeable form. This is due to the almost revolutionary mindset that magic should belong to the people, not to the ruling class, or to a few well-read hermits in their closed-off towers. Now this view alone can work, if there is a peaceful agreement by the ruling classes and the established magic users. But as that is usually not the case, Anthropoedian views are often followed by a genuine want for revolution and revolt.

Given the Anthropoedians are looking to ultimately seize control over who’s using magic, they can’t really be seen as getting along with Feudalists or Magi, however, with the right amount of, potential, propaganda, the Fanatics could be pulled into action for the side of the Anthropoedians.

Naturally, most fantasy societies, kingdos, empires, or towns, are unlikely to just accept these demands straight away, but this can make the foundation for a story (or just a location), where magic is being used in an attempt to unseat the rulers, who, obviously, would likely use magic to fight back.

Redwoods at Nightfall, part 3

Carlos seemed more pushy than usual, I guess that was due to the rain. The LS River was able to handle large amounts of waters, but the body was currently placed on the flat part closest to the water. It would take much more to actually wash the corpse away, but if the body was placed in water for a while, the time of death could be harder to set down precisely.

“Alright, let’s get back to the station and talk to the kids who found the body.” Jim made a hurried dash to the Washington, and waited patiently for me to unlock the car. As we got in, the two tents had been taken down, Carlos had always been efficient, and one of his assistants was now scrubbing the concrete. With the rain like today a corpse wouldn’t leave much of a mark, but even in an enclosed area like the LS River, homicide and forensics had always had the ordeal to “leave as little trace of corpses as possible”, city hall doesn’t want blemishes on their city, though they aren’t exactly keen on removing grafiti and such. In itself, I understood, if someone discovered a pool of blood, they could panic and start to spread rumours. This task had been partly suspended in certain districts, like Davis and Rancho, due to increased gang activity.

“What do we know about the kids, sir?” Jim asked me, and I shrugged. “Not much at the moment, they dialed 9-1-1 and told that they were racing dirt bikes on the bank of the river. Apparently they initially thought the corpse was just a pile of garbage.” Jim nodded, and scribbled some notes down for himself, he was still scribbling when he spoke again, “So… are we pressing charges for trespassing on them?” I shook my head slightly, as the Washington rolled up to the gate. “It’s not up to me or you, talk to the Bulldog if you want to know. We’re homicide, so unless there’s reason to believe that they are suspects in this particular case, it’s an all administrative decision.”

The different parts of the force had always it out for one another, with traffic being lowest of the low. It didn’t make things any better that if there was even a hint of a case belonging to another part, they could essentially just snatch the case away, demand that the current officers shared everything. Then, months later, they’d get the case back, only to find that they would get nothing new from the other department. This wasn’t just collegiate bullying, it came down to spending, as city hall had made some significant changes a couple of years back. Essentially the state would pay per case solved. Naturally, traffic department more or less got the axe, other than speeding and car crashes, they barely had any people in the streets anymore. Their payment were funneled through P&E for the city, over a weekend, it meant that more than three-hundred men and women were told to find different jobs. Not even the Chief, a personal friend of the mayor, and the governor’s cousin’s husband, could stand and defend that idea, but had acknowledge that “this was the new reality, we all have to do ours for the sake of the city.”

Here in homicide, things had always been complex; if there was a married couple or there were kids in the relationship, it was domestic (unless it was fatal, then we got the case AFTER domestic had looked). It was even worse with non-gang related murders, if they happened in or near the gang-heavy districts, we could be pretty sure that they’d send a senior officer to look through what we could find, and from that deduce whether or not it was a case for the gang department. The mayor had been adamant about taking the fight to the gangs, so the gang department of the force all got reinforced cars, buildings, and all got new computers, and lots of other hardware that was brand new.

The rain was still falling without end, as Jim and I shut the doors to the Washington inside the Mission Row parking garage. “Alright Jim, we’re likely going to have the two of them separated, I want you to take one of them. The guys should run the kids through our systems, to see if they are past offenders of something. Use it as leverage, if there is any. Any questions?” I could see that he had taken a decent amount of notes already. It took him a while before he looked up to nod, “Hmm… Well, just one sir; should I mention about how we think he died?” I shook my head slowly, “No… for the time being, it’s better to refer it as an accident, if it’s brought up at all. I reckon they will be more focused on clearing their own name.”

As we got to the interrogation rooms, an officer stood awaiting with two clipboards. He looked new to me, well-ironed uniform, shiny buttons and badge, and his back stiff and straight as a board. From how Jim was following me, with his coat slouched over his arm, I think it was clear to him that I was more than just another cop. “These are the witnesses for the 10-67 in the river?” The greenhorn saluted, but held the clipboards close, “Sir, yes sir, here’s their files.” I grabbed them both, instantly handing one over to Jim. I didn’t look at it at first, instead I took the time to study the new cop. His demeanor was more fitting that of soldier, possibly a reject. “At ease son, this isn’t the army. You can call me Inspector Bates, and what’s your name?” He seemed to automatically click into a more relaxed pose at the order, “Marvin Petterson, sir.” The army habit was still there, those things don’t disappear easily. “Alright Marvin, you’re fairly green on the force, right? Where did you serve before?” Marvin seemed surprised that I could tell that much, despite it being fairly obvious, a junior detective would likely have noticed it, “Fort Zancudo, sir, Ordnance and Munitions Services, sir.” I nodded, it wasn’t unusual that we’d get rejects or lay-offs from Zancudo or the other way around, there was a mutual understanding that, as long as it wasn’t Merryweather, we’d both give a bit of leeway in terms of letting people in. “Good good, now Marvin, you’re going to monitor me and detective Richards as we interview these young kids, obviously interject if we overstep our duties, or intervene if any of them get overly hostile. Other than that, I’d like you to look for any changes in their posing and facial expression. Alright, we all set?” I said the last part a little louder to Jim, who was sifting through the one clipboard.

The kid in the interview room sat with a bored expression on his face, he had time to settle down and be less panicked about being picked up by cops. I had a cup of coffee in the one hand, the clipboard and a can of e-cola in the other, as I entered, the kid seemed to regain interest. “So what, you pigs are going to let me go or what? You can’t just keep me here, I’ve got rights, you know.” I just shook my head slightly, insults and all that, that’s just part of the job, sliding the can towards him, “Hey hey, calm down okay? I just want to know what you and your friend saw.” He still seemed very defensive; this was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? He crossed his arms, “I’m not telling no pig anything.” I sighed, okay, that was the attitude, no need to play nice anymore then. Slamming my fist down next to the clipboard, I made it bounce into the air a bit, my sudden change of behaviour caught him by surprise, “Listen here, we’re not not the anti-gang unit, this is murder, and I quite frankly don’t give a shit about what colour cap you’re wearing, or the type of shoes you’re using. I got a dead body, and you and your friend was the first ones to find him, so you tell me what you saw, or I’ll throw you into a holding cell for withholding information, are we clear?” Using his slight pausing to get my point across, I took a deliberate sip of my coffee, to let the message sink in. I noticed over the top of the cup, that he seemed to fidget with his hands on the table. An audible sigh came from him, it seemed reason had won out over his anti-authoritarian beliefs, “Alright alright man, shit… I’ll tell you.” I changed my pose to a more open one, giving him a nod to continue. “We were down racing these new Manches, then it started raining like crazy, you know? So we decided to head on home, then PJ almost hit the body. At first we were like, aww shit that was close, but then we saw the blood and like totally freaked. I was like, yo P, we gotta get outta here, but PJ was all it’s a white dude, it ain’t no ganger. So then we called 9-1-1 from PJs phone and waited under the bridge, it was freaky man, like why’s a white dude gotta jump from a bridge like that?” I nodded slowly while listening, taking a slurp of coffee from time to time while he told his story. It sounded true, he didn’t appear to be lying, at least not from what I could tell. “Okay, just a few more questions, and we’re done here. First off, you said that you two used your friend’s phone, why not yours?” He looked to regain some vigor, but it was still a mumbling voice that I couldn’t quite hear, “I’m sorry, come again.” “I’m grounded, okay? My old man got my phone tracked, so if I run with it, he knows.” I had heard of parents going to relatively extreme measures to keep track of their kids, in the case of a kidnapping, it would be smart, but kind of intrusive otherwise. “Okay, last question. The bikes, these Maibatsu Manches, they aren’t registered anywhere, who do they belong to?” The kid looked it pained him, but finally gave in, “It’s my dad and PJ’s uncle that got them, PJ’s uncle stripped them down and was getting new markers. Shit man, I just wanted to test them out, I didn’t want no body right up my grill.”

With that, I finished up the questioning, it would be some time before we could release those kids, as we’d need to confirm as many things as possible, before letting potential suspects slip through our grasps.

The Quest for The Holy Grail, take two – A D&D Adventure in Monty Python’s Arthurian setting

After the defeat to the French at Castle Aargh, an exhausted King Arthur Pendragon returned to Camelot with the few remaining men, but with the plague still at large, the French soldiers lurking and many a strange monster roaming sbout, Arthur had no choice but to let most of the Knights of the Round Table go. Arthur’s hope was that the Knights would at least go and fight evil in the name of the Britons and the Round Table, but Camelot’s treasure was not able to support yet another full-blown campaign. As it turns out, having not been at his seat of power, and allowed the Knights at Camelot to turn it into such a silly place, meant that the coffers were all but empty.

But Arthur was never one to admit defeat; just think of what historians some thousand years later would think? Gone were some of his best men, Sir Galahad presumed to be dead at the bridge in scene 24, Sir Bedevere were captured by strange folk at Castle Aargh, Tim the Enchanter had also returned to the Badlands, and Sir Lancelot’s whereabouts were currently unknown. Sir Robin was also gone, but that thought didn’t really cross Arthur’s mind. There were bigger problems in his rather undefined kingdom. Now scout reports told of a strange appearance, apparently coming in from the sea, the highly invasive Swedish Møøse had already made a few simple settlements along the coast. Further north, the savage tribes had been more bold in their raids on the villages, possibly spurred on by a change in leadership. Arthur was in need of two things, well, three, if you count the Grail, but those two things were men, to storm the Castle Aargh if needed, and money to pay said men.

Arthur’s problem was obvious; no men meant that no-one was out collecting bounties to fill his coffers, and without money, he could not supply men to go out and hunt for these bounties. But then, when Arthur was at his lowest, having had yet another fairly one-sided conversation with God about the aspects of a good groveling, an angel appeared before Arthur. Arthur was quite dumbfounded by this, as the angel wasn’t wearing any clothes. The angel spoke to Arthur, who was staring rather intently, as it was turning colder outside (Arthur did not have the money to renew his rockwool membership). “Arthur, King of the Britons, I am Saint Victor, God senteth me to aid thee, so that thou would stop thine moaning of his name in vain. I am contractually obligated to inform thee that,” in that moment, the clouds parted and God, fairly cross after dealing with several flocks of coconut-carrying African Swallows, said, “GET ON WITH IT!”

Saint Victor then informed Arthur of a stone circle some days east of Camelot, here would he find, if his faith was strong enough, a band of strange travellers who would be willing to help his cause, without promise of pay, but Arthur might had to assure them healthcare, after all, it was no-longer the 800’s anymore. Arthur’s mood brightened to a smile, and hastily he strode towards the stable where Patsy the 2nd were sleeping; this was his chance of reassembling the Knights of the Round Temple, get revenge on the French for their insults and, FINALLY, obtain the Holy Grail.

Amongst Silk and Rubies

Miguel grew up amongst luxuries, his family owning, through straw-men and other contacts, several businesses around the wealthy dock-city of Chynllau. The family fortune had been secured by Miguel’s great-grandfather, who was a gem-cutter, but later came to own a workshop. Through a number of schemes and crafty business plans, Miguel (I) established a smaller emporium over the trade of gemstones.

The de Pechão house-hold was seat of many meetings, both with other merchants and nobles, but also with ship captains, mercenaries and other less pleasant types. If something could used to the family’s favor, it almost certainly would, and any threat towards the family or their businesses, had a tendency of disappearing and not be seen again. This dubious craftsmanship continued under Miguel (II), who established a personal bodyguard, as well constructing a vault for holding wealth for emergency needs.

Miguel’s father, Miguel (III), started to cut off the more dubious parts of the business, focusing more on his family and estate on the outskirts of Chynllau. Miguel (III) taught his son, Miguel, the wrong-doings of his forefathers, but also ensured his son to be proud of his heritage.

Miguel (IV) learned from personal teachers the basics of running finances and being an upstanding citizen. In his teens, Miguel pursued a love-interest, but was shot down, with the point being that he was “too boring”. The easily-influenced Miguel took that to heart, and decided to become that which he found most exciting at the time; a user of magic. Spending a significant amount of wealth and favors on not only books, but also remedies and artefacts, Miguel was studious and ambitious, his primary teacher, an elderly Elven woman, had praised him for being a quick-learner. Her main ideal was to use magic for the sake of fending for one self, as such the School of Abjuration was her prized subject.

At age 18, Miguel was technically supposed to be made ready to take over, but to his father Miguel’s surprise, Miguel handed that mantle to his twin-sister, Luisa. Miguel asked to travel the world, on one of the family ships out of the port. And so, the next week, after making a few preparations, Miguel set out on the seas to find love, knowledge, wealth and favors.

A Herbalist’s Notes, part five

We finally discovered something that helped our spirits a bit. A couple of Aarakocra scouts had spotted our group, and offered shelter and food for the evening, as their village was nearby. The winged Aarakocra flew up, and lowered down a basket, big enough for one person. Our Tabaxi guides were the last to be raised up through the leaves.

We asked if the Aarakocras had a map, to which they shook their heads, they rarely went down to the undergrowth of the jungle, picking most of their fruits from the canopy of the jungle. The Aarakocra village had about twenty individuals, the younger ones appeared to me as frightful; this was probably the first time they had ever seen anyother creature than their fellow Aarakocras. We asked if the village had a leader, but was only met with heads shaking. From what I could gather, this wasn’t as such a tribe, but rather a couple of families living together. Venerable Pieros, Ioun bless his soul, would have been overjoyed, I’m sure.

The next day we left the treehouses, with extra supplies of fruits among our food. The stay with the Aarakocras had lifted our spirits slightly, but we soon found ourselves back in the slump of the undergrowth. We passed bubbly hot mud-pools, turning the air humidity into a dry and unpleasant smog. Our remaining guards were on edge, naturally, and our Tabaxi guides seemed friendlier with eachother, out of the necessity for survival. There were several sounds almost all the time, some close, a nearby bush or a low-hanging branch, and some much further away. We could hear two, or more, sizeable creatures in a fight, but never saw either of them.

Out of a starting expedition of a total of thirty people, nine had perished so far. Including Pieros, another scholar, I never caught her name, disappeared from the group within the first couple of days. Aside from that the rest of the casualties were the guards and Don Kelprys’ personal guard. The remaining people were still largely divided between those supporting the Don and his quest for treasures, and those supporting Captain Mirra in making it out alive again. Unfortunately those in favor of the Don, was the ones paying for the entire expedition. As scholars, the remaining people were less than adamant in stating support for one side or the other. On the one hand, the quest for new knowledge and discoveries, was a scholar’s plight, but on the other hand, that knowledge would never reach anyone, if none of us made it out of the jungle alive.

A couple of muffled cries told the demise of two more of the guards, one of the others had seen what looked like a humanoid reptilian appear from out of a murky pool, throw a net onto the two guards, and pull them under faster than they could call for help. Their swords and the dragging marks was the only signs left of them on the muddy surface of the jungle. I can only hope that their deaths were swift and painless.

Even if the hopelessness of our situation should steer more people against the Don, the jungle did it’s part to obtain the balance between the factions. The guards were the most exposed to the dangers of the jungle, they kept the front and sides safe, but this also meant that they were first in line, if anything meant to attack us. And the guards happened to be the largest group that was, mostly, against Don Kelprys.

I decided to try and swing the balance amongst the scholars, so the next evening at camp, I gathered up the others. Some of them were easily swayed, amongst them a young Halfling, who already had had several close calls with the dangers. Others were still on the idea that if we just waited, eventually things would resolve themselves.

Val’Kiroth’s letter back home

Written in a very neat hand-writing, in the Draconic tongue.

Dear honoured father and mother
When this letter reaches you, I will have been on this journey of mine for several weeks now. Let me first start of by admitting a smaller lie on my part; I didn’t just go on this journey to find new trade networks for our family’s mine and for Farranin’s betterment. I have in secret been studying magic, though no-one else in town or at the manor, should be aware of this, to my knowledge.

I have made sure to keep it a secret, as I know your stance on magic is one of distrust, and I do not blame you. If you disown me everything from our family, I will stand fully understanding to your choices. But know I that will still work towards the enrichment of Farranin as well of the continued wealth of our family and that of the Giemerac family.

I partook the journey partly to discover what I could do with magic, but also to use my knowledge on behalf of our town. Alas I have not yet made any connections with regards to trade, but I have made a decent amount of money from my adventures through the towns of Neverwinter and Phandalin. I plan to, when I make it back, donate as much as possible to our family and the town of Farranin.

I hope Earrys is doing well, if her marriage is coming up, I’d be happy to pay for a gift befitting the first-born of the Amblarex family.

Once again, I apologize for deceiving you, I never wished to harm anyone, which is why I asked for a task of this character.

I long for the familiar walls of our beloved manor, as well as the company of you, my honoured parents.
I remain, truly, your son.
Val’Kiroth Amblarex

The Lost Mine of Phandelver, Val’Kiroth’s Journal

A first-person experience of a D&D 5E campaign

With the prisoners out of their cells, alive and well, all things considered, I turned to ask my rather brusque companions on what our next course of action should be. As I did, I noticed that our height-imposed musician, had vanished completely. I even asked venerable Gloriosa, as the short one seemed to be quite content with running behind her well-armoured rump, whenever anything unsavory would poke it’s ugly head forth in our direction. Alas, even she had not seen him run away, and she had not seen (or heard) if any creature should have crept up and gobbled him down like a morsel.

As a jest, I suggested the idea that he might have hid in one of the coffins, as there was a distinct lack of barrels here. Maybe he had hid and attempted to prank us, and then closing the lid, only to realise his lacking strength, being caught inside the coffin. Still, no muffled cries of distress cam from the coffins. Somehow it made my mood drop into a sour area, while his antics were annoying and obnoxious, to the point where even I had been tempted to test his “barrel” against my magic, I suppose it was sort of a strange friendship. And while brave would be the last thing to call him, his heart was still in the right place; helping those less fortunate than himself.

Meanwhile I as pondering my honest feelings towards our short friend, the smelly Half-orc and the strange Elf had found an old armoury. Spears, swords and crossbows. And a lot of bolts. Most of the weaponry was crude, but solid looking, it wouldn’t break easily, even in the hands of someone untrained. I took the finest of the spears, weighing it in my hands. The balance was good, I remembered the annual boar hunts my father would host for the miners, some would be clappers, some would guard the flanks with these heavy spears, in the case of the boars charging in. The main group would be equipped with crossbows and longbows. At the time, I found a hunt like that barbaric and pointless, but as my father pointed out, the following feast, where he would sit next to the common mine-worker, listening to their grieves and troubles, served the business that the mine was well, by keeping the miners happy. I had the idea that if I could provide extra bolts for the hunt next year, I could partake in the hunt as well. This would surely make my father proud of me.

We left the manor with the woman and her daughter, it was hard to tell exactly how long the two had been held captive, but they both appeared in good health. For some reason, my gut told me that more Redbrands were en route to the manor, I loaded up my crossbow and said that I would guard the two women to safety, while the others would drag the well-beaten mage out. Their intention was to hand him to the town, for them to sign out a fitting justice, though I had concerns; no building looked fortified like a jail. And unlike Draig, who seemed just as unfaced by bathing as by death, I have standards regarding ethics and punishment, the call for an execution would go against my beliefs.

While looking out over Phandalin, I noticed that more people were out in the streets than when we headed to the manor, none of them with the notable red hoods. It was a pleasant change, as none of the people appeared fearful, almost as if they knew we had taken care of the Redbrands. The mage spoke word that concerned me, even if the Redbrands wasn’t the best lot of people, if they truly were the force protecting Phandalin, things could go downhill very fast for this community. Perhaps venerable Gloriosa had the same line of thought, or she just read my mind, but she suggested we used the weapons in the armoury of the manor, to arm up the citizens; creating a makeshift militia. Even if we didn’t have time to train them in the usage of the weapons, just the sight of visibly armed people could fend off smaller groups of thieves and brigands. As I had snatched up all the bolts, I felt a jolt of guilt hit me, but I couldn’t just leave this place defenseless. So while I waited with the woman and her daughter, the others went in to obtain the remaining weapons, and the knocked out mage. I can’t imagine Draig’s shoulder to be comfortable, to say nothing of the grime, dust, dirt and blood I have no doubt would be smeared in layers upon it.

We were informed that the knight, that we saved from the Goblins, was at the Townmaster’s Hall, and we figured it was the closest to a government or leadership this town had. The mage was still out cold, I suppose the rough-housing the others gave him earlier did have some effect. Sildar wasn’t exactly pleased to see the mage, and when I inquired into the mage’s claim of him being “an old acquaintance” of Sildar, he seemed reluctant for a moment, before he told us of the mage’s past as an errant trouble-maker. He did applaud us for keeping the mage alive (and for gagging him, which had been a suggestion of mine), he was handling a heavy bag, which turned out to be our reward for rescuing him earlier. I figured the plans to arm the citizens were better left with Gloriosa, who had been very charismatic and adamant in that request, which was part of why I agreed to part with most of the bolts. Meanwhile, I headed in to talk with Townmaster, and obese, but short man. I had hear others mentioning him as a banker, so I figured this would be a good chance to make a connection between my father’s mine and the general trade routes near Neverwinter.

Alas the Townmaster turned out to be the kind of person, who should NEVER be in charge of other people’s investments and money, and most certainly not be their head figure in terms of political achievements. He kept misspeaking about the town’s funds as “his own”, to a point where I suspected he was trying to line his own pockets, rather than making the town a better place. I calmly informed him that we had dealt with the Redbrands, and he asked if we had found the money they stole. I told him no, no stash of money or other riches were found, all that were there, was the coins from the gamblers’ table in the cellar of the manor, 20 silver pieces. I counted them up and pushed them across the table. He frowned, informing me that the Redbrands had stolen heaps more, though I had a feeling that he was trying to scheme me, or my party, of more wealth. So I bid him farewell, with a vague promise that we would take care of some Orcs south of Phandalin.

With all of that debacle settled, we headed to the estate of a certain Alderleaf. A farmstead, as it turned out, in a rather poor state, but with a decent amount of land for crops next to it. Seeing as our musician and joy-bundle was missing, I stepped forth, my tongue may not be silvered, but it would be better than Draig spouting angry spittle at a common farmer. Gloriosa might have turned it into a religious lecture, something I could do without at the moment. And mister Aspendew I wasn’t sure about, but as it didn’t occur natural for him to step up and introduce our cause, I am of the firm belief that I did the right thing, in telling the others to let me handle this. For once, no-one complained or argued, quite the refreshing change.

The door was barely opened for a woman to look out, but not letting us enter or look inside. I understood her situation; in her stead I would have done the same, seeing such a well-dressed, fine-scaled, horn-embroided Dragonborn at her door. She informed us that she didn’t know the location of the castle herself, but that a friend, who was a Druid out of Neverwinter, most certainly did. I thanked her, despite the minuscule amount of information. She told us to be wary of her sound, who could be quite the rowdy kid, and as if on cue, a young boy came swinging a crude wooden sword. Naturally, a boy with little hope for the future, would turn to swords and violence first, before thinking of knowledge, books and numbers, despite the fact that the town probably could do well with someone of intellect, rather than savagery and the ability to cut of heads. But the boy admired Draig. Not even the somewhat refined Aspendew, or the well-mannered Gloriosa, despite her slightly fanatic approach to certain things. I just shook my head, and turned away. At the corner of the next house over, I spun to look at Draig handing the little boy his two hand-axes, trying to teach him how to throw them. I murmurred a silent prayer to no god in particular, that Draig would never deliver children into this world, no shins or kneecaps would be safe.

Finally they finished up, I heard the boy calling Draig “sir”, a title fit for a knight or a guard commander… Draig was as far from any of those as any of us would be. I asked if we should procure a wagon to head to a locale called Thundertree, which was where we could expect to find the Druid, but neither Sildar nor the Townmaster, the greedy fop, had a wagon we could borrow. Sildar suggested we ask Barthen if we could use the ox-cart in which had arrived. An excellent idea; it had not been long enough for Barthen to sell cart or oxen on. It turned out Barthen had made some small repairs to the cart, a couple of cuts from a Goblin scimitar here and there, I presume, but I gladly paid the small fee he asked for, unlike the smithy on the other side of the street, Barthen seemed a reasonable man of commerce. I went behind the shop, to prepare the cart, whilst the others had some unfinished items they wished to trade with Barthen about.

Finally they all came around, Aspendew went to pet one of the oxen, I tried to warn him that they didn’t particular enjoy being petted on their rump, but it was too late, the otherwise calm creature launched a kick to his stomach. And it was is Aspendew had seen himself mad at the ox for this; he started questioning what we needed a cart for. I thought that he was playing a jest, surely he could not be suggesting that we were to WALK to Thundertree and back. But soon it dawned upon me, that he was being serious. I looked to the others, but found little support in my reasoning. After some pointless bickering back and forth, we decided to sleep the night, and head out first thing in the morning. We talked about going straight to the castle, if possible, though I have preferred to head to Thundertree first; another settlement with potential trade to be made. But I was outnumbered in that regard too. Oh why, dear father, must I surround myself with religious fanatics, murderous savages and an Elf so much in love with walking, that you’d think he’d be married to a pair of good hiking boots.

Heading north we discovered the castle Cragmaw; a mostly ruined set of walls and towers on top of a hill. As we had slept, I had dreamed of a visit from the same fleshy wall as from my past, I woke suddenly in the middle of the night and looked below my bed; a strange, humid book was placed there during my sleep. Flipping through the pages, I found incantations for some powerful spells, most interesting I must say. Aspendew called a glowing owl to his aid, for a second I hoped it would land a smelly bird-poop onto Draig, but no such luck was had. Instead the owl flew over the castle ramparts, and Aspendew looked blankly up into the sky while it did. When it returned, he informed us, poorly, that the castle was in fact occupied, with smaller and bigger types of Goblins. His owl had also spotted a ruined part of the northern wall, that seemed lightly manned. We kept our heads down, mostly, as a single patrol passed by. We agreed to silently take out the next patrol to pass, giving us a free moment to enter the castle unnoticed, hopefully.

Listening at a door, Aspendew informed us that multiple voices were in there, however we didn’t manage to enter without sound, and soon the clashing of swords and armour echoed through the corridors. Draig took point, I could see him swing at something through a door, as he moved forward I followed, only to be utterly clubbed down by the ugliest Bugbear I ever saw. The next few minutes are hazy to me, I remember getting up, and being cut down again by a dark-skinned Elf. As I came to, from Gloriosa’s friendly voice, the others had barricaded the tower room, with an unconscious Gundren amongst us. And a beast of some size roared from the outside of the castle.

The Faceless Dream

I woke to find myself bathed in sweat, the cool air of the mountains chilled my spine. But in different way than I was used to. It wasn’t the winter months, and it wouldn’t be at least three more weeks till the first snow would start covering roofs and land. It was a different feeling, something felt… wrong.

I tucked a sheep-woolen robe around me, at this point, I feared my scales would fall off like icicles. The dark of my chamber told me the time of day; pitch black, it would be several hours till sun and the light of day would appear. Perhaps I needed something strong, to calm my nerves. I sat on my bed for a couple of minutes, trying to accustom my eyes to the dark of night, I could make out the nightstand next to my bed, but not much further than that. On top of the nightstand stood a thick wax candle, I had used it to read the past evening. A small copper bowl was placed under the candle’s base, to keep the wax from dripping.

I took it with my left hand, while opening the drawer to my nightstand with my right. I was sure that I had placed the tinderbox in there, but it wasn’t there now. My window had it’s curtains drawn, the fabric felt stiff and cold in my hand. No moon or stars lit the night sky, but I didn’t remember it as being cloudy when I went to bed. I had to find a light-source, if I wanted to make any progress in our manor. Fortunately my honoured father’s study was in the room right next to mine, I knew he would have a tinderbox in there, and that the study wasn’t usually locked.

The door to the hallway opened with a silent gasp, and for a second it felt like something big had rushed down the long, carpeted wooden floor. I held my breath, gathering my courage and looked out. But the hallway was just as dark as my room, and there was no sound of… something, going down into the lobby. With my right hand on the wall, I slowly fumbled my way to the study door. Father had been very specific about every piece of furniture in there, as well as the door, with the handle in the shape of a small dragon. The metal was cold to the touch, freezing, almost hurting in the very instant my fingers embraced it. I could see my breath as small clouds coming from my nose and mouth, as I pushed against the door.

The study had no windows, so the only light-source in there would always have to be a candle or a lantern, if the fireplace in the back of the room wasn’t lit. For this reason, it struck me as very strange, when I felt a short gust of icy wind rushing out between my legs, as the door was opened. I shuttered and squinted my eyes to peek inside. There it was, the tinderbox, right on the corner of my father’s study table. I rushed over, and lit my candle, putting the tinderbox away in my robe.

When the light was struck, I looked around, all the bookshelves had a fine cover of… frost. And inside the fireplace was a lump of snow, which would only be possible if the wind had been coming from a very specific angle. Shivering, I left the study, my father did have some alcoholic beverages in here, but those would be the finest vintage and most pricey drinks, so the thought of indulging in those would never occur to me.

The flickering light from the candle spread throughout the hallway. I immediately noticed that the door to my parents’ bedroom was open. I lurched closer, silently, as to avoid disturbing them. I couldn’t hear breathing coming from in there, so I pushed open the door. Their bed was empty, but from the look of their bed-covers, they had both left recently. I looked around in the room, but nothing seemed to suggest why, or where, they would have gone.

Heading downstairs, I found the door to the servants’ quarters had been knocked outward, and was now laying on the big, round carpet in the lobby. My father would not be pleased with this. I peeked inside the quarters briefly; no sounds and no-one appeared to be concerned. It was then that I noticed some deep claw-like marks by the door-frame, likely the cause of the door not being in it’s rightful place. I traced down the rough markings, the thick lumber, from which most of our manor was built, had been cleanly pushed in. Something very large, and undoubtedly very strong creature had made these marks.

The kitchen was a mess, plates had been torn out of cupboards, drawers broken apart and all my mother’s fine silvery had been scattered across the floor. This room, just like any of the other rooms, had a laying of frost on every surface. Where the kitchen looked as if a war-band had just been through on a raid, the pantry was surprisingly untouched. It didn’t take me long to find not only the alcohol belonging to the household, but also the private stash of our kitchen maid, Kirona. I had initially sought to let my father know, but despite Kirona sometimes being rather tipsy, she, as my father so boldly would proclaim; “Was the best damned cook for miles.” And I wasn’t exactly in disagreement with him on that note.

I had swiftly grabbed a tankard from the mess in the kitchen, and placed it on a shelf to pour. I had selected a half-full bottle of brandy. The cork was a bit stubborn, but finally it gave way, the pleasant, sharp scent of the brandy quickly went to my nostrils, already making me feel warm inside. As I took the first swig, a loud crash came from the lobby. I stowed the bottle down next to the tinderbox, and went to look with the candle in my left hand, the tankard in my right.

The double doors to the lobby and out in front of the manor, had swung open with some force, but no-one appeared to be waiting. I wasn’t much for leaving the manor, but when I looked out over the hillside, I felt I needed to investigate; footsteps, all leading away from the manor, through a fine layer of otherwise undisturbed snow. I collected and donned my good walking boots, and began to follow.

The footsteps would lead towards the village and in between the houses, never was there a set of prints heading a different way, always moving in unison. I had seen the village at night before, usually, there’d be light in the windows here and there, in particular the tavern, where those who had ended a late shift in the mine would usually spend the night. But there were no lights on. Every house, hovel and street was dark, cold and empty. I noticed a couple of open doors, but decided it better for me to not look in. More footsteps joined in with those from the manor. And they were all heading towards the entrance of the mine.

My candle had almost melted down, when I got to the foreman’s office. With it’s interior looking just like the kitchen; ravaged, as if someone… or something, had been searching for valuables or other items. In the last remaining light from the candle, I found a filled lantern that wasn’t broken. The lantern didn’t provide warmth as the candle did, so I poured myself some more brandy to balance it out. The foreman also had extra working gear, rough and primitive as it as, it would ward of the freezing cold better than nothing.

There was no snow inside the mine, and with the multiple shafts branching out as new veins were discovered, it was a labyrinth of caves, carved by hand for profit. Many times I would stop to listen, but apart from my own heartbeat, it was as silent as the grave. I had been walking for about an hour, always descending deeper into the earth, when I heard it. At first it was distant, like a deep, humming song, but as I got closer, I realized that it was a choir of voice, in a language I could not comprehend.

I turned a corner and almost dropped the lantern in shock; before stood every man, woman and child from the village, as well as my mother and father, with their backs to me. They were all facing a wall that didn’t look carved. It looked… alive, like a writhing mass of stone tentacles, slowly twitching, twirling in a mesmerizing dance. A deep, strange voice echoed in my head, the voice was powerful and I stumbled to my knees. I could not understand the voice, and it seemed to get louder as I didn’t answer. Finally I manage to scream “What do you want?!?!” and the voice stopped.

Everything went dead-quiet in that moment, and now the congregation of people began to turn towards me. Slowly, one by one, they would turn in their stead and look at me. But to my horror, their faces were… blank, well… gone. No mouth with which to talk, no eyes with which to see. The same was the case with my parents, no faces, just an empty wall of flesh. And yet I felt them staring, it was clear that I had interrupted something I was not meant to see. When the last person had turned their faceless head to look at me, the mass of people all reached a hand toward me and pointed at me. The wall-creature behind them made some kind of sound, and now they began to slowly approach. I instinctively held up my hand to stop them, and as a I did, a skeletal figure emerged from my palm, grinning it’s toothy skull at me, before blasting against the mass of people, knocking several of them down like a gust of wind against a stand of reeds.

Terrified, I screamed. And then I woke up. For real. My heart was racing, my bed soaked in my sweat. And in my clasped fist, was a tiny ice-crystal on a chain. In my head I heard a friendly humming, beckoning me to put the necklace on. And I did.