Deeds and Danger

Into the Narlmarshes we go...

...and deep.

Sir Thorne’s Letter to Home #4

Dear Mother & Father,

I write to you stalking upon the furthest stretch of travel we have ever dared delve into the Southern Narlmarshes of the Stolen Lands. It has been quite a ride, or shall I say stride. My dear noble stead still rests in Iron Hold after a most tragic accident on the island of Candlemere and now I must walk! My armor’s clean and gleaming shine is drastically lessened as of late with grime. I will not delve into specifics, but know that Noble Steed is under the care of IronHold’s brightest and his honor hath been avenged!

I digress wholeheartedly at this, for the events of the last week surely deserve the last of my travel ink! Not ten days ago, IronHold was beset upon by an apparent werewolf of all things. The disappearance of cattle and peculiar sets of man and man wolf footprints had our heads scratching. Even more preposterous were the rumors of me being trapped inside the body of a dirty lying alley cat! Sir Baron Thorne a cat?? I think not! Rufus was most helpful in squashing this fetid tale, and before the next dawn we settled on a genius plan. In the meantime, Galz apparently not only solved the werewolf problem himself, but within the time it takes to sip a fine wine!

A fellow named Kundal, the last of his slain tribe, had been infected with lycanthropy. Our wonderful Gazl simply followed rumor to where he was holding up and with some cheerful words of encouragement, managed to bring the man around with a spell of healing. It is a wonder the lycanthropy illness stayed the man’s ferocity at even a kindly stranger such as our Gazl! The man was so relieved that he gifted a mighty great axe, heirloom of his past. It is actually quite pretty… and deadly of course. Of course Gazl does not carry a weapon, and so I told him I would try it’s edge at next opportunity :)

The few days of politicking and council meetings that followed are never much to write on paper, but we eventually readied ourselves for our next wilderness outing. Into Ironhold’s western direction, the vast forests of the Southern Narlmarches, so close to the capital, is still relatively unexplored… a vexing thought.

To my surprise, our first encounter brought us to an established logging camp of sorts. The only problem was, half the men seemed spellbound, and the leader Corax, could only sputter with indignation about the local fey beings playing tricks on them. I myself have been the butt of a harmless joke from a jovial fey creature before for simply walking through their glade… I frowned at the thought of what they may do to those who cut down their trees. Daeron, our cunning linguist, took charge by finding out what exactly had transpired here from that of the actual fey lady, who I know now is called Melianse. I could not understand a word they said, confound those difficult languages, but Dearon seemed work out a negotiation. The gross ignorance of cutting fey-held trees by the loggers was indeed no trifling matter! A simple matter of replacing the five giant trees that had been filled would procure a release of the spellbound humans. How does one grow trees such a that in a lifetime!!

Rufus simply walked up and threw in a magic acorn onto the first tree stump, and you wouldn’t believe what happened next…. It grew! Strong and tall and magical it was. However, he had but one magic acorn, and Melianse was only impressed but a moment before realizing we had no others. It was clear we would need to find more and quick to save these loggers. We pledged to be back with much haste to both parties, and continued further east where it was rumored by the fey lady herself that her cousin was in need of dire help concerning an evil tree and would most likely give earthly rewards.

Coming across a pond in a most charming nook of the forest, we came upon the fair Tirresia and her guard Falchos, a Satyr being. Only, her tears were many and forthcoming. Her emotions shook me to the core, mother! She explained with no amount of ease, that an evil scythe tree was literally hunting her! More powerful than she, it was only a matter of time before it destroyed her glade of oaks, which inconveniently keep her alive as well. Her bodyguard, Falchos, was in a smoldering mood most foul upon hearing her recount this. Not one to miss an opportunity to rid the world of apparent evil, I laid the abilities of the Iron Tide at her service!

We explored up and down the glade, and finally Daeron spied the vile tree before it could take us by surprise. We converged as one against the black barked giant as it frantically threw it’s wooded limbs against our armor. Daeron and Gazl provided us magical cover and luck while Rufus and I simply hacked at scythe with Great Axe and Sword until sweat poured from our pours and arms burned with fatigue. Finally Kundal Great Axe I wielded struck at the heart of the tree, and it fell with a boom and explosion of evil release. The glad had been saved and Tiressia’s gratitude bequeathed. Hearing of our trial with her cousin, she easily procured 6 more magic acorns for our use as well as being our eyes and ears in the Narlmarshes should there be any need.

We rushed back to logging camp and immediately put the matter between Corax and his team and Melianse to rest by restoring the other four trees. We went further with the loggers to offer them an Ironhold contract to log in the kingdom’s name in an area further to the north, free of the presense of fey creatures. A resourceful opportunity such as this should never be left behind! They agreed somewhat grumpily, but were most enthusiastic to leave the fey behind on their way out.

Looking at his maps, Rufus proffered a suggestion that although weary of forest travel, the Narthropple cited and mapped location of the Elvin ruins lay but a day’s travel further west into the forest. An opportunity to scout this location would not present itself again so close any time soon. And so we travel further into the darkness, and it is getting difficult to write. Hold on, ruin spires of elven make appear in the distance… I must stay my hand until next opportunity. Be well my dear family!

Yours and High Above,

Sir Baron Francis Thorne of the Iron Lands

PS. Blast this Grigori and anything in his name!

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