It almost seems as if our work here in Wildlands never ends. Having gone from defeating Ivar Trask in the ruins of the sink, to discovering I am not alone in being a Spire Master, and now running around the Boil trying to save the lives of detestable men in order to stop what I believe is another abomination related to chaotic sleeping horror that has plagued me and my companions throughout my tenure here in the Wildlands. It seems that while my own powers grow, so does the weight of mental exhaustion and stress that comes with trying to survive in this region.
Though I complain here in my journal, I try my best not to let my companions see this. Though often enough, I feel that exhaustion shines through in my inability to hold a solid conversation without seeming bitter or snappy. Stuck between the stress of my newfound responsibilities, my dedication to Lord Exelar and the Watchmen, and the very strong desire to prove to my companions that I am someone they can trust and rely on in these dangerous places.
These are the thoughts that slipped through the cracks in my resolve as Lord Exelar, Sir Seipher, and myself escorted this disgusting man named Myre Rupman quickly through the muddy streets of the boil in order to save him from his own mistakes. This man who makes his living by working with refuse in the midden vats to create the building blocks of the city and profiting off the backs of the bodies of undead who tirelessly toiled in his midden vats.
Those poor souls enslaved by Myre should have been put to rest and their bodies left to their graves. I could not bear it if one of those zombies had been one of the people I considered family or friend. His practice of necromancy is foulness of the highest order. I consider it a perversion of magic and its intended purposes and it took much of my willpower not to destroy him where he stood. It was at the behest of my companions and their reasoning that his destruction might strengthen the beast hunting him that I stayed my hand. Though I think killing him will rob the creature of the essence is so desires. Never the less, I feel that my willingness to kill comes too easily these days.
I cannot begin to stress the level distaste I harbor for this man. In his hubris and arrogance he and his fellow "Keepers Of the Eldest " succeeded in releasing what I had discovered to be a spawn of the elder god of Chaos known to mortal men as Yog-Sothoth. A god of pure madness. These fools let it loose in the city of carrion hill. In their folly they did not realize that it hunted them and wished them dead.
After obtaining the copy of the Nakotic Tome from the sunless grove in the tunnels beneath the city (which i later discovered had a good deal of information on the magical workings of portals and inter-planar travel) that we surmised that the “keepers” used it to summon the creature of chaos and that it hunted them in order to consume their essence and solidify its power and connection to this plane of existence for reasons I did not want to even BEGIN to fathom. It was from this discovery that we set out to find the remaining “keepers” and protect them from this abomination. Hopefully killing it in the process though I do not know how.
It as decided that getting Myre as far from the city as possible was the best course of action. As the city itself was a hub of chaotic energy. Maybe getting him out of the bounds of that magic would prevent the creature from getting to his prey. The rain had picked up as we quickly made our way through the muddy streets of the boil.
Finally arriving at the south gate of the city where we intended to enlist them help of a boatman that was an ally of the Watchmen. After our meeting with him as well as another meeting with a man who served as a spy for a Bowman leader. The Gate was crowded with a mass of citizens. Panicked from the news of the monsters attacks and clamoring to flee the city.
I used a simple piece of magic to amplify my voice to convince the throng of people to make way for us who were on urgent business for the mayor as we passed. As magic was a rarity in this area my attempt met with some measure of success Though we were stopped and questions by a Crow. It was only after another Crow commander who’s name escapes me right now vouched for us were we allowed to pass without further hindrance.
I made the mistake of feeling relief as we were getting close to escaping the city. Soon after our meetings we pressed hurriedly on through the final stretch of streets in the part of the city known as the filth leading to the docs and towards our transport out of the foul place. It was at this time that we were stopped. The outline of bowmen lines the roofs around us as well as what appeared to be the outlines of three men on their knees in the middle of the street accompanied by another man.
“Exelar Vitarri!” he shouted. “your request for a meeting with our commander has been heard!”
Lightning cracked across the sky and lit up the faces of the men barring our way as well as his captives. A Bowmen! Tied in ropes were several of our companions. My worry for their safety was suddenly drawn away at the sound of bowstrings being drawn on all sides. It surely was a trap.
It was at this time that the inscription from inside cover of the Pnakotic Tome entered my thoughts.
“May we, the Keepers of the Oldest, prevail over
the scourge of simplistic thought and lesser men.”
What foolishness and and arrogance……
(please excuse the incorrect dialogue or continuity errors as my memory at this event is hazy and I dont have notes or facebook to access while I wrote this out at work)