Diary of Captain Nomed Oppenheimer - Entry Number 8

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Crakesbone Mausoleum

Sunday, October 23rd, 907 of the Third Age

We do know how to make ourselves welcome, don’t we? Barely two days in Dragonsford, and we have become embroiled in drama between the Duchy and the Sea Barons. Maybe this tension can be used to our advantage, and we can put a dent in the Sea Barons and their troublesome Stormcrow.

On the 19th, after our words with the spirit of the Wanton Wench, we set sail for Dragonsford, to get supplies and enact repairs on the ship. As we set sail, we saw a small dinghy out in the distance, seemingly from some Northern tribes. Inside was a chest engraved with the name Munro, chained shut and magically sealed. The puzzle to open it was one of dice, carved in human bones, which needed to be organized on a plane. Chironomous, the master of death, made short work of the puzzle, and inside we found a shard of ice, perpetually frozen by some arcane means. Piecing together the clues, we realized that this must be some kind of key to the island of Munro, the frost giant, whose island of ice floated along the Inner Sea. With this item in tow, we continued west.

The only other events that took place were our attempts to look at the log books that we retrieved from Broken Tooth. When we took a cursory glance at the logs, we could not remember them. When we tried to read more deeply, the reader was sucked away to another realm, where a Devil, who was imprisoned by Stormcrow, lay in wait. He grievously wounded the reader, then tossed them back to us, and then destroyed the page we had attempted to read. We could not divine a way around the demon, and as we could only face it one at a time, we are left without a clear path to read the logs, and with it our best chance of finding the wings of the Wanton Wench. So we set aside the logs for now, and made way to Dragonsford.

The rest of our journey was uneventful, and we arrived at the city of Dragonsford on the afternoon of the 21st. We were greeted by the assistant dockmaster, a slimy man by the name of Paul Verrier, whose lips were loosened with a few coins. He told us that the lord of the Duchy was away fighting in the wars, along with most of the men, and so the authority of the town fell on the shoulders of Morgan, the town mage. He told us also that those of us with less than human blood should be wary, as the Captain of the Guard was a demon hunter by the name of Sir Randall. This name was of particular importance to Wrane, who had told us the horrors suffered by his family at the hands of this man. He told us that he could not leave while Sir Randall drew breath, and so we must deal with it in due course.

The dockmaster also told us that we could find better arms and armor at the Holly Berry Trading Post, Druidic traders, and we went to said shop. The owners traded information for magical supplies, and we told them as much as we could, while bartering for the best prices. We managed to grab a half-dozen items, for our knowledge and a few thousand of our coin. So loaded for bear, we were much more comfortable with any potential conflict to come.

Juju (Ciri), was approached by cloaked men while we were talking with the dockmaster, and he and Finn left shortly after to a meeting with the less reputable part of town. When they returned, Cirill told us that we had a job. The local guild needed 2 barrels delivered to a man in a graveyard. We agreed, and with Cirin leading the way, we made our way to the rendezvous point.

Unfortunately, our contact was not at the appointed place, and the only clues to his whereabouts were a set of footprints leading into one of the mausoleums. The entrance to the mausoleum was trapped, protected by the magical sculptures of wailing maidens, and much more mundane spikes. Finnegan made short work of the trap, much to our relief and we made our way inside. The mausoleum had small passageways that wrapped around the sides of a central chamber whose entrance lay on the far side. Before we could get to this chamber though, we were set upon by a group of carrion crawlers. We made short work of the beasts, and made sure to collect as much of the paralytic venom that the vermin are famous for.

When we made it to the central chamber, we were greeted by a most odd man. He worked for the Family, extracting information from the dead, and this was his laboratory. He acquired this information from the heads of the fallen, and our “delivery”, was in fact a new shipment of preserved heads for him to interrogate. We made our leave of his lair to let him work, and went to the furthest corner of the mausoleum, where the carrion crawlers used to reside. In between their offal, we made a few discoveries. The first was a large amount of coin. Second, two magical weapons, a dagger and a longsword. The third, in the rubble of the mausoleum, was a passageway, old and unused, that seemed to lead directly towards the keep of Dragonsford. With this knowledge and the items in hand, we separated into two groups. The first, with Wrane, Finn, and myself, went to the nearest inn to lay for the night, while Chironomous, Java, and Cirark went back to the ship.

Night passed, and with it came ill tidings. During the night, the Captain’s Doom, one of the Sea Baron’s ships had arrived, and with it came Stormcrow. At the same time, apparently our uninvited guest from Portsmith had decided to make his appearance known in town, and had killed villagers. Sir Randall, and his horde of guards, accused the Wanton Wench of harboring vampires (How dare he!), and wished to board to find them. Luckily, Wrane and I were not onboard lest our demon heritage betray us to this fanatic. His men searched the ship, but thankfully the Dourmoors were not spotted, hidden in the hold. Although he could find no evidence of our wrongdoing, he told the crew onboard that they could not leave, and that we were being watched. With the other members hands so tied, I made a quick change in my appearance and set off towards the keep.

When I arrived, Stormcrow was already talking to the mage, accusing us of theft and demanding our heads. The old man Morgan, confined to a magical chair, was dismissive of the sorceress, and she left in a foul mood. With her gone, I approached, and told Morgan that we wished to speak with him. He agreed to a meeting, and told me that he would come to get us this afternoon. With this meeting set, plans are being put into motion. Maybe an ally can be gained today, and if not, at least an enemy may be silenced.