Post by Admin on Aug 7, 2022 16:00:39 GMT
Krikor’s Tale of the Last Dirigian Tyrant
The tyrant Makrouhi Dirigian II had grown fat in this final arrogance, the last of his line. The people, fed up with his dynasty's vicious tyranny, looked towards a new face for the kingdom’s soul.
The Matoian's stood stalwart and ready as destiny had prepared them. The benevolent Dikram Matoian, from whom a single word raised armies, met cheers from each corner of the island.
What few remained for Dirigian stable tried to hold against the tide but as the brightest moon brings waves crashing further up the shore, so too did the Matoian tsunami wash over the walls of Weton with ease!
A great flood of glory since has Grandish enjoyed! Matoian after Matoian, great kings and queens all! May the royal blood guide our island nation to excellence for centuries!
Jungle Excursion
Some years back, while on a jungle excursion with my childhood companion, Razmik the woodsman warrior, we encountered the strangest beast, a beast of legend! Hear my tantalizing tale.
My quirky friend was trying to teach me the ways of the jungle, how in fact even the plants can kill a man with such ease, when mere yards from our tent we stumbled upon a group of vicious baboons intent on drawing that which is so precious to us: red blood!
Coconuts rained down as if the rare mountain hail, but we deftly avoided them, fleeing deeper into the lush vegetation. We soon came to a winding, lazy stream. Though easily crossed, I learned another fine lesson therein:
Blood-thirsty piranhas inhabit these streams, and what rascals they are! Nipping at our bare skin as we sloshed through the waters. A rustle in the bush soon signaled that a wild boar was near, and the fight was on!
We labored back and forth, slashing at the charging beast until its blood ran thick into the green loamy ground. What a feast we prepared from this bountiful harvest! But the day yet held more surprises.
Bellies full and hearts proud with victory, we ventured deeper into the jungle, where more baboons appeared, tearing the life out of the most brightly colored snake I have even seen, and wings! The thing bore wings! Though capable of flight, yet it remained to fend off the ravaging monkeys.
We soon learned why after mopping the brutes up with our blades, quite deftly I might say.
What did I spy but a large pile of all the fruitful bounty of the jungle, luscious and colored as the rainbow after a storm. And atop, a single egg, sparkling in the blazing sun, more wonderous of color than all the fruit combined.
And so Razmik cautiously cradled the egg that day, as entranced as the buxom women of our village might cause a man to be. Forevermore, my friend's heart was stolen by his new wonder…
But the great adventures that have passed since that day shall wait for another tale!
The Man of the Savage Coast
Having such lengthy notice as to the receipt of my invite to the King's solstice festival, I decided to make the journey myself, taking in that long desolate stretch we call the Savage Coast. Oh there's fisherman and scattered dwellings, and I availed myself of their respite of occasional offers to travel as companions abreast the waves, but the way was solitary for the majority, as I'd have it.
Yet one night, I came upon a most curious man. Stooped of gait, thin in body, the grayness of the years shining silver in the moonlight as I approached. He tarried not to meet my greeting, but rather made his was to the edge of the lapping waves. As his toes dipped into the spray, he gazed north, across open sea, eyes towards what I cannot say, as long to time have the secrets from whence those waves come been lost to Grandish.
Ankle deep in the surf, he spoke thus to the open sea:
“Curst be all wandering things whose place is not upon the land, let them abide in their realms.
“Curst be the gnomes, the trolls, the elves, and goblins, and all the sprites of the water.”
“Curst be the tales told of them and the enchantments in their meadows.”
“Curst be the toadstool rings and what dances within and below them.”
“Curst be the things done on midsummer nights, and the faeries and legends from unhallowed times.”
Then the man turned slowly back towards his hut, on the very edge of the jungle under her boughs. Not a word I spoke as his curse trilled over the waves, the ocean’s vastness, towards what audience I cannot say.
No echo returned from what ears that caught his prayer. I cannot say.
I took no rest that night, aiming to make miles behind under that bright full moon watching above. I and it the sole witnesses to this man and his lament that night.
Seasonal Rains
I bask each eve of my journey in the seasonal rains hailing the coming solstice which I shall soon celebrate with friends, unknowns, and the royalty of my land! My heart yearns for the message the coming year brings, there at the first festival of the season. Long live King Matoian and his lady, his issue, and his reign! May mead spill yet blood not, and may bounty flow from plates born by the buxom ladies of Weton’s strong walls. Shall any goblin spied be slain forthwith, to adore the watch hall and tavern mantle!
May the seasonal rains falling over me now wash away the past year’s folly!
The Solstice Festival
So the festival begins as I drink deep of my wine and take in the scent of the beautiful sea. The songs of my people float causally through the air.
Suddenly there erupted a fracas back at the gate. I gathered from the whispering revelers that a pig was involved, maybe one survived the slaughter? Having no interest in fighting tonight, I sauntered over to the king’s table to make my acquaintance. Then fagglemot! from out of the brouhaha who might appear but my good friend Razmik! And Armen, my brother! Reunited at last after my lonely months adrift upon the isle’s dangerous coast. Razmik’s beast grew quite large since last we’d traveled together.
The old coot who started the earlier fracas garnered the attention of General Missak, a conversation that unfolded with much energy from behind the King’s grand dais. What came next was quiet the surprise as Argalan the coot the was seen to be whacking Papui the guard in retribution for the death of his pig. Missak is not known for sure raw punishment of his men. This is an incident of note indeed.
My attention then turned to the task at hand: besting my brother in the festival’s annual archery tourney. Though a fishman took the first volley at 50 yards, I did beat Armen. I promptly opened round two with another bullseye, then took the field by a single point! Fagglemot! The master of ceremonies awarded a blue shell for my victory. On to the 100-yard line we went, for three arrows at this great distance. I run the field once more, besting the giant by 2 points! A golden shell is added to my bounty. Our great display of skill brings favor from the king who allows us to approach his table. After introducing myself to his royal highness where I accept his blessings, I collected my winnings, 450 gold pieces!
The festival raged for some time until the revelry was broken by a most horrid message: The King’s son is being held captive by goblins! How can this be? This aggression won’t stand! I pledge myself to rectify this great wrong!
The king’s advisor, Niktar Kaojian led us to his home to provide as much information as possible. It seems that our first our of business is to travel to Beril to find Iese Karmarian, the father of the only known escapee of the goblin wastelands, Arno Karmarian.
Our task laid out before us, we assemble few, we heroes, rested at the home of Niktar before the coming journey by sea to the great city of Beril!
The Journey Begins!
Upon the morn, a great breakfast feast had been assembled by Niktar’s servants, splendid! We were informed as to the name of our craft: Thunder Tide! May the deeds of her motley crew ring through the ages as legend!
She’s as true as told, we learned soon after amongst the smells and sounds of the great dockyard of Weton. Long in draft and thick in bow, she’s what every barmaid hopes to see at the end of the night. We found her well equipped for the coming journey.
Night hours out to sea we encountered a wrecked ship, cracked and torn, lodged into a reef as we passed carefully… Razmik used his keen eyes to assess the ship as we passed, lo he told what he spied: signs of attack! This ship was not run aground but keel-hauled I say, by nasty goblins no doubts.
Hours later the weather had turned to light rain and the wind worked against our desire to travel northwest. As night approached, we spied small village of Zadig, which I had not visited prior in fact. We took to their dock, where met us a kindly man singing the praises of Habbakuk!
This wonderful man, Mastag Kupelian, the village elder, welcomed us into his home, provided drinks, and fine fare prepared by his beautiful wife Hayrabed. We met his wife and a brave young man under his care. That every day of this journey might provide us with such fine company and lodgings! The conversation turned to matters of the present. Lo that Mr. Kupelian would know the story of Arno’s travails, and his present location upon the rocky shore of Oak Island!
Suddenly the nasty monkey being cared for by the old coot came barreling into the hut, tipping a table before rushing back out. I’d no choice but to interpret this as a sign of impending danger! The danger was in fact immediate as mine yes did see a score of sahaguin’s trudge from the waves, primed for battle. My first two arrows found purchase, spilling the cold blood of two of them into the sand. The sahaguin of the shores sure lived up to their fearsome reputation! The sands ran muddy with the foul liquids as we slayed them one by one! Much rejoicing ensued amongst the villagers, as certainly we became legends that night!
The Sahaguin’s have been Slain!
From the complaints of the villagers, it is quite apparent that the king has neglected to send forces to protect Zadig from the semi-regular sahaguin attacks plaguing the area. But then after a wonderful sleep full of glorious dreams, the tall tales of their “warriors” brought on many questions better left unanswered. To Razmik, the pleas held water for he promised aid to the village upon his return.
To sea we then set, to Oak Island our bow points! The king’s son awaits rescue, we shall not tarry!
The sea was kind though the wind tried to push us back to Grandish as we cut towards Oak Island. Our only excitement was when a group of beautiful sharks chose to tail our wake. Argalan dumped chum – remains from the sahaguin he’d brutally butchered after they’d been slain. This act was prescient though as it kept the sharks nearby to thwart more sahaguin that attempted to board the ship! In the end, this only resulted in a bloody show for our gleeful eyes. From bow to stern the old man’s craziness knew no boundary as he soon was mimicking the sharks before speaking to them. That I’d not known of his abilities, I’d have labeled him a metal defective.
The wind remained kind once turned, revealing Oak Island, beautiful and stout with her tall namesake trees! There she was at last. The island’s reputation proved itself immediately, especially that of Jermlaine & Tubs, the rowdiest tavern in all of Grandish. By the king’s decree, a pigeon’d been sent to hail for more aid in our quest, as evidenced by the four tough Kapoian brothers who waited our arrival. Quite the rowdy night we spent carousing, drinking, singing and viewing the regular pugilistic crowd before crashing in the upstairs rooms for a night of rest before striking out for Arno’s hut in the morning.
Morning on Oak Tree Island
That first night on Oak Tree Island was made quite interesting by the sounds of revelry and boisterous amorous liaisons in the alley outside our window. But nothing cancels the discomfort of a long night much like the wondrous odor of Grandishian breakfast meat. After stuffing our gullets, we set off north for the home of the mysterious Arno.
The coastline of Oak Tree Island is quite diverse in natural wonders. Increasing signs of the recent passage of giant crabs showed along our path until suddenly, we spotted a handful of the creatures off in the distance. By the grace of Habbakuk the crabs moved off without issue, and within due time we reached the homestead of the famous hermit of Oak Tree Island.
After introductions led by Feliki, Arno welcomed us into his modest home. The conversation continued over warm coffee and succulent treats, generously proffered by our host. To my disappointment, Arno failed to possess much beneficial information for our quest, but while speaking to him I hatched a plan. Our best chance of infiltrating the goblin wastelands without attracting a large-scale defense is to intentional goad a raiding party into boarding our ship. My friends agreed quickly that this plan would offer our greatest chance of success.
After our visit with the hermit, we quickly headed back to Thunder Tide, pulled ropes aboard and set forth south, straight for the shores of the goblin wasteland! Within hours the sea turned sour to our passage. Rain washed over our bow while the waves crashed higher and higher! The great natural wonder of Habbakuk’s waters, alive and writhing around us. Mere minutes after the cessation of frothing danger, the slick tentacles of a giant octopus slammed down upon the boards of Thunder Tide’s stout deck, whipping towards me with blind fury! All eighter tentacles lashed our bodies relentlessly until finally the last blade sleuthed through its meat. The sea was angry that day my friends, the sea was angry.
The Open Sea Beckons
And so we continued south, fighting the sea and her brother, the winds of Mean Triangle (note: use this one often. Maybe it will catch on).
From what remained of the octopus, dinner was prepared. I found the dish to be very succulent and quite interesting in fact. I am certain that some of this was due to the unique culinary expertise of Tapu. Tis rare to see such fare survive back to shore!
During my turn at watch, I noted the beautiful sounds of a pod of whales singing in uplifting harmony back and forth to each other. Did they mention us? Were they calling out in warning of what lies ahead? The mystical encounter shall stay fresh in my mind forever.
As night turned into day and daylight brought us more unfavorable seas, my impatience rose to a point where I had to cease rowing. I directed my prayers down toward Habbukuk, filled the sack of my parkapzuk with the salty air, aiming to entice favorable winds from the lost elven lands of the north!
By the blessings of Habbukuk, it worked! The wind changed, rushing us forward towards the shores of the accused goblin wasteland. And by the waves, what did soon appear on the horizon but the unmistakable outline of goblin raiding ships. To arms, to arms! The battle cry rang!
Back and forth the ebb of the battle waned. The old coot made us blind, hindering our ability to fight off the horde. Finally when all seemed lost, we overtook the remaining goblin skiff, boarded her, and pitched her divinely entranced crew (the old coot redeemed himself) overboard. Those remaining shall serve as our slaves until which time slitting their throats becomes the better option.
Land Ho!
Our captives in tow, we slowly headed towards land looming in the distance. The night passed with little more than the annoyance of our new friends. Upon first light, we set full sails for shore, intent on making landfall as soon as possible to take full advantage of the well-known aversion to fighting in daylight.
And lo the fight was on as the first waves lapped our bow! Wave after wave of goblins poured down off the cliffs towards our positions. It felt as if hours had passed in mere minutes. My sword arm ached, knees weakened, calves burning with the ache of constant action. Goblin blood flowed in streams, sprayed upon lips licked in desperation, darkened eyes as it dropped maliciously. Fog finally dissipated on the field of battle with our party standing above the fray!
Goodbye Argalan, you will not be missed!
And so it came to pass that after the great battle with the goblin forces on the shores of their wasted island, the aloof and worthless Argalan The "Wise" wandered off into the blasted landscape, never to be seen or more importantly, heard from, again.
As blood cooled, hearts calmed, and conversation arose over the fires of our campsite, the hours passed without his return. The question left unspoken was certainly a telling sign: did any of the brave adventurers truly care?
So endeth the story of the old washed-up druid, fool of Grandish, weasel of Weton, oaf of Oak Tree Island. May his many names never be forgotten so the children of Grandish shall not repeat his many follies.
The following is a short ditty to commemorate the disappearance of Argalan the Fool.
Ye wandering fool, ye blithering idiot, a’where did ye go?
A question wise left unanswered for found ye shall confound!
The sage of stupidity, the professor of tomfoolery,
Oh ye astute ass of all sagacious insufficiencies.
Wander fer’ever ye jester of the wastes.
May the wolves find ye bleached white bones studying the stars above
As the goblins dance where your last buffoonery delighted no one
Ye wandering fool, ye blithering idiot, a’where did ye go?
Onward into the wastes
As goblin and worg blood congealed into the sandy ground, we set to work preparing for the long slog into the wastes. Our journey began behind Nakahi’s nostrils glued to the ground, sniffing the prince’s fading scent to the east. Nigh an hour had passed fore we encountered a clutch of hyenas ravaging some unfortunate creature who’d left its meat for their jowls to render. We struck them down, fierce beasts of the wasted plains. Their prize only what remained of a goblin rider and his worg, likely sent to hail reinforcements against our landing.
The great sun waned here, dipping below what few bouts of terrain broke the flat expanse before us. My prayers chased Habbakuk above as he crept away from us for the night, that our journey might continue unhindered in the morn. And that Argalan should remain lost to the ages (buried haphazardly by goblin picks no less).
When Habbakuk returned pushing his light before him, the others related that deep in the night a scorpion had invaded our camp whilst I slept soundly under the watchful eyes of my god, dreaming of feast after feast upon our return. That I may have seen my companions tiptoeing and dancing around as it nipped their feet!
On we marched deeper into the goblins’ kingdom, ever closer to a canyon distant to the east. The first full day was naught but a slog, notable for else besides our aching feet. Once more we set camp, now very near to the canyon’s edge. By Habbakuk’s blessing, this night passed uneventfully.
But lo that the next morning our peace was broken frightfully. Three horrid ankhegs arose from the blasted ground in front of us, claws and maws bared to crush our feebly soft bodies! Mandibles cracked, pincers clamped, poisonous spittle rained down sizzling my brother’s skin, but in the end we stood victorious above their steaming chitinous bodies! Now tis time for breakfast!
The Long and Lacking Road
Leaving behind the nasty giant ground bugs, we slogged through the high grasses all morning towards a the slowly rising rim of a canyon. Still two miles out from the crevasse, I picked up the faint grumbling voices of two worthless goblin guards ahead. Razmik dispatched Nakahi to perform a sneak attack which ended their miserable lives, but then more burst forth from above us on small hills! Yet again we found ourselves engaged in a test of our increasing martial experience! These goblins, though seemingly disgruntled and underfed, fought valiantly for their lives. They exhibited far superior tactics than those we’d previously faced. When the dust settled, by Habbakuk’s grace we managed to capture their leader!
Strangely, as I collected those spent arrows which appeared to have some service left in the shaft, it occurred to me that one of the larger rocks had shrunk itself, and MOVED! Odd sounds fill my ears not unlike the cacophony of inexperienced musicians wailing for coppers in Wetons poorest wards. What strange magic possesses this place? We shall seek the answer to this question soon…
What Was That Sound?
These unsettling observations sent me rushing back to the group to explain what I had found. Razmik expressed his frustration with our progress towards freeing the Prince, and the others were intent on squeezing every last drop of information (and blood) out of our new captive, the goblin sergeant Razzle. Razmick sent Nakahi to sniff the area. Her keen senses revealed the direction the prince was taken: into the looming canyon of course!
Though hanging from a tree, bleeding and starved, Razzle the little rascal pushed back against our needling questions. As his life hung in the balance, seconds from death, he claimed to be able to take us into the canyon fortress to meet his chieftain. Unfortunately for him, his information was worthless to my more ruthless companions. Zantar the despicable finished him off with a blade to the rear-end. And so went Razzle, his death recorded here for posterity (or posterior?)
To the wall of the canyon we marched! Those formidable cliffs stood before us, over 300’ high in places. As we neared a cleft between the walls allowing passage within, strange animal sounds and that of dogs barking reached our ears. As I moved cautiously, something jumped up and bit me! An attack cactus, living and with intelligence enough to smite me as I passed near!
As we moved into the funnel created by the walls of the canyon, we encountered two-headed dog-like abominations locked in mortal combat with the strangest birds I have ever laid eyes on. We moved quickly and quietly along the far side of the path, against the cliff, to avoid this fracas. As we made our way past that violent scene, a giant beast burst from the ground. It was as a mother’s tale to scare children to sleep. Even a quickly stolen glance was enough to strike fear into our step and elicit silent prayers to the ever-gracious Habbakuk. We darted past by his will alone I am convinced.
For hours we walked on, nary a bird in the sky, eventually resting in a darkened nook formed by a bend in the rock wall. The undisturbed rest we enjoyed that night was well-deserved. The road is getting long.
At daybreak, Armen reported a wonderful dream about our parents. They visited him in the night, resplendent under Habbakuk’s eternal care. By his divine grace, each of us found a healing goodberry tucked into a pocket somewhere on our person. This small sign renewed my faith that our god watched over this foolish quest.
It was not long into our resumed march that we came upon the gateway into a large goblin complex. We easily overpowered the pitiful guards. Now we stand before the mouth of this den of horror. Three sun-bleached human skulls stand watch over the tomb-like entrance, beckoning us to follow their fate. Does the prince await us inside? Is he even still alive? There’s no turning back now.
Into the Depths
As our last enemies expired, we stole back to the protection of a large boulder, there to formulate a fool-proof plan to invade the goblin stronghold. Razmik quickly scrawled a note upon a section of my parchment, attaching it to Nakahi’s neck for her to wing back to our ship so our stalwart companions back at the shore should know we remain of this world.
We assembled into a defensive formation before moving cautiously into the complex. Our thieving friend Zantar led from the front, his first foray into true danger! Nary moments into the tunnel, a worg was bearing down on him, so he attempted to retreat for our fighters to confront the nasty dog-beast.
From my position in the rear, I began a chant sure to bolster the fortitude of my companions:
Cry Dirigian oh man of Grandish! Humble thine enemies before our advancing line! Absorb their women into the tribe that they might learn what a true warrior man is!
As sure a Habbakuk’s grace shines upon those who heed his call, Tigrin smashed the worg to pieces with a single blow!
Our column surged past what remained of the dead worg. Having known him for our entire lives, I feared for Razmik as his love of the vast lands of our youth did not prepare him for the confinement of this wretched warrens. A true warrior of Trebizond, he fought through the fear as best he could. On we pushed, tight to each other, facing each threat as it came. Then suddenly we found ourselves overwhelmed in the tightest of passageways. As the battle raged, a captive from the prince’s ship cried out in pain ahead, steeling our resolve to slaughter the foul goblin slavers. Razmik and Tigran reached him first, I behind them. His name was Malu, and he died in my arms, too far gone for even Habbakuk’s vast power over life and death.
Enraged, Razmik charged forward through another tight space to confront a goblin leader and his harem of concubines. Then he was gone! Fallen into a pit! Only moments after Malu’s death I found myself desperately pulling Razmik recover from that dank hole. The warrior in him exploded. With the power of anger, frustration and Habbakuk’s desire for justice, Razmick leapt over the pit, rushed into the fray and slew every goblin he encountered ahead before Tigran and the rest of us finished off the remainder.
To the Captives!
The little buggers fought viciously, with wave after wave coming out of holes and cracks unseen as we swung sword and spear to save our lives! Amidst the swirling dervish I nicked mine own leg, the as gash wide as my eyes from the shock! As the blood dried, Zantar ran up bearing a beautiful sword revealed to be magical! I shall name her L’Aquitaine! The paths ahead became far too tight for us to wiggle through, so we doubled back down one of the wider tunnels we’d earlier ignored. Into a warren we stumbled, their disgusting bedroom. More goblins fell to our blades like stunned mice to a heavy boot.
Through the tunnel of excrement we forged on, turning a corner quickly where L’Aquitaine first tasted blood, cutting down a cowering goblin. I ran forth enraged, only to fall into a trapped pit! The pain was intense! I was forced to call upon Habbakuk’s saving grace once more to seal my wounds. The blasted place seemed to be full of traps from inch to every inch.
We have cleared this disgusting den without finding the prince! Thankfully, we found a map that seems to indicate the location of their main complex, the chief’s den as it must stand. Onward we go. Ever onward until the dear Prince has been found!
Where do we go now?
Before the new journey, we needed to rest. The goblin hovel was our best option for shelter, as terrible as it was. After praying to heal my brother and Tigrin, and offering further ablutions to Habbakuk, I drifted off to sleep. The respite did not last though as soon I was awoken by the strangest creature gnawing on my arm! I snapped to, stabbing it with my trusty dagger as the others wrastled with their invaders! I turned only to see a second little bugger in front of me, felling it as well. Ah Ha! Nasty little bastards these alien creatures were, but they failed in whatever their goal may have been.
Upon the morn, we set off east using the goblin map and some sign of their passage as our only guides. We cautiously moved through the canyon until nasty goblin arrows rained down from above. Thence, we bolted! Luckily from their perch far above, the goblins could not follow. Quick movement became the name of the game from that point forward.
Having put many miles between us and the ambush, we encountered a strange sight wherein goblins appeared before us while the sound of more of their kin in desperation echoed off the canyon walls. We ambushed them in turn. I felled one quickly with my bow before firing upon another as they fled. Soon we found ourselves at the mouth of a funnel, wherein the cries of the goblins grew much louder.
Before we knew it, three wild dog-like beasts charged forth into our midst, slashing and biting with their vicious teeth! It was a violent battle, but we slain the beasts where they stood. The stench of their reeking bodies nearly knocked the whole of us to the ground! Cucklefucks, they were.
Slogging On
Quickly we tried to leave the scene of the crime. Suddenly, the boulders around us came alive! Such a lively conversation was had with these fellows. I beseeched their blessings on our journey, that their fellow rock-beings might shade our path. The leader of the group passed a gem to us so that we might identify the friendship we share. Finally, the lot of them returned to their silent watch, causing us to press on.
As dusk approached, we found ourselves within 2 miles of the goblin complex. It was time for a rest within the shade of the ancient stones. By the grace of Habbakuk, our night passed without harassment. In the morning, the hint of goblin stench wafted over us, reminding us where we lie. And of course, some goblins appeared presently, only to be slain by our blades.
Before us, the entrance to their complex lie open…
For every inch we fought. For Grandish!
Through dimly lit hallways we waded through the blood of wretched goblins. Bursting through a door we came to a feast hall. To the death we committed our blades save for their captain. I sent the full force of Habbakuk’s power through my holy seashell to enthrall him into friendship. Glak was his name and by the power of my faith he led us straight to the captives! There was Prince Davit, waiting for our divine smite to free him, but to our surprise, a fellow captive was tied nearby!
The tyrant Makrouhi Dirigian II had grown fat in this final arrogance, the last of his line. The people, fed up with his dynasty's vicious tyranny, looked towards a new face for the kingdom’s soul.
The Matoian's stood stalwart and ready as destiny had prepared them. The benevolent Dikram Matoian, from whom a single word raised armies, met cheers from each corner of the island.
What few remained for Dirigian stable tried to hold against the tide but as the brightest moon brings waves crashing further up the shore, so too did the Matoian tsunami wash over the walls of Weton with ease!
A great flood of glory since has Grandish enjoyed! Matoian after Matoian, great kings and queens all! May the royal blood guide our island nation to excellence for centuries!
Jungle Excursion
Some years back, while on a jungle excursion with my childhood companion, Razmik the woodsman warrior, we encountered the strangest beast, a beast of legend! Hear my tantalizing tale.
My quirky friend was trying to teach me the ways of the jungle, how in fact even the plants can kill a man with such ease, when mere yards from our tent we stumbled upon a group of vicious baboons intent on drawing that which is so precious to us: red blood!
Coconuts rained down as if the rare mountain hail, but we deftly avoided them, fleeing deeper into the lush vegetation. We soon came to a winding, lazy stream. Though easily crossed, I learned another fine lesson therein:
Blood-thirsty piranhas inhabit these streams, and what rascals they are! Nipping at our bare skin as we sloshed through the waters. A rustle in the bush soon signaled that a wild boar was near, and the fight was on!
We labored back and forth, slashing at the charging beast until its blood ran thick into the green loamy ground. What a feast we prepared from this bountiful harvest! But the day yet held more surprises.
Bellies full and hearts proud with victory, we ventured deeper into the jungle, where more baboons appeared, tearing the life out of the most brightly colored snake I have even seen, and wings! The thing bore wings! Though capable of flight, yet it remained to fend off the ravaging monkeys.
We soon learned why after mopping the brutes up with our blades, quite deftly I might say.
What did I spy but a large pile of all the fruitful bounty of the jungle, luscious and colored as the rainbow after a storm. And atop, a single egg, sparkling in the blazing sun, more wonderous of color than all the fruit combined.
And so Razmik cautiously cradled the egg that day, as entranced as the buxom women of our village might cause a man to be. Forevermore, my friend's heart was stolen by his new wonder…
But the great adventures that have passed since that day shall wait for another tale!
The Man of the Savage Coast
Having such lengthy notice as to the receipt of my invite to the King's solstice festival, I decided to make the journey myself, taking in that long desolate stretch we call the Savage Coast. Oh there's fisherman and scattered dwellings, and I availed myself of their respite of occasional offers to travel as companions abreast the waves, but the way was solitary for the majority, as I'd have it.
Yet one night, I came upon a most curious man. Stooped of gait, thin in body, the grayness of the years shining silver in the moonlight as I approached. He tarried not to meet my greeting, but rather made his was to the edge of the lapping waves. As his toes dipped into the spray, he gazed north, across open sea, eyes towards what I cannot say, as long to time have the secrets from whence those waves come been lost to Grandish.
Ankle deep in the surf, he spoke thus to the open sea:
“Curst be all wandering things whose place is not upon the land, let them abide in their realms.
“Curst be the gnomes, the trolls, the elves, and goblins, and all the sprites of the water.”
“Curst be the tales told of them and the enchantments in their meadows.”
“Curst be the toadstool rings and what dances within and below them.”
“Curst be the things done on midsummer nights, and the faeries and legends from unhallowed times.”
Then the man turned slowly back towards his hut, on the very edge of the jungle under her boughs. Not a word I spoke as his curse trilled over the waves, the ocean’s vastness, towards what audience I cannot say.
No echo returned from what ears that caught his prayer. I cannot say.
I took no rest that night, aiming to make miles behind under that bright full moon watching above. I and it the sole witnesses to this man and his lament that night.
Seasonal Rains
I bask each eve of my journey in the seasonal rains hailing the coming solstice which I shall soon celebrate with friends, unknowns, and the royalty of my land! My heart yearns for the message the coming year brings, there at the first festival of the season. Long live King Matoian and his lady, his issue, and his reign! May mead spill yet blood not, and may bounty flow from plates born by the buxom ladies of Weton’s strong walls. Shall any goblin spied be slain forthwith, to adore the watch hall and tavern mantle!
May the seasonal rains falling over me now wash away the past year’s folly!
The Solstice Festival
So the festival begins as I drink deep of my wine and take in the scent of the beautiful sea. The songs of my people float causally through the air.
Suddenly there erupted a fracas back at the gate. I gathered from the whispering revelers that a pig was involved, maybe one survived the slaughter? Having no interest in fighting tonight, I sauntered over to the king’s table to make my acquaintance. Then fagglemot! from out of the brouhaha who might appear but my good friend Razmik! And Armen, my brother! Reunited at last after my lonely months adrift upon the isle’s dangerous coast. Razmik’s beast grew quite large since last we’d traveled together.
The old coot who started the earlier fracas garnered the attention of General Missak, a conversation that unfolded with much energy from behind the King’s grand dais. What came next was quiet the surprise as Argalan the coot the was seen to be whacking Papui the guard in retribution for the death of his pig. Missak is not known for sure raw punishment of his men. This is an incident of note indeed.
My attention then turned to the task at hand: besting my brother in the festival’s annual archery tourney. Though a fishman took the first volley at 50 yards, I did beat Armen. I promptly opened round two with another bullseye, then took the field by a single point! Fagglemot! The master of ceremonies awarded a blue shell for my victory. On to the 100-yard line we went, for three arrows at this great distance. I run the field once more, besting the giant by 2 points! A golden shell is added to my bounty. Our great display of skill brings favor from the king who allows us to approach his table. After introducing myself to his royal highness where I accept his blessings, I collected my winnings, 450 gold pieces!
The festival raged for some time until the revelry was broken by a most horrid message: The King’s son is being held captive by goblins! How can this be? This aggression won’t stand! I pledge myself to rectify this great wrong!
The king’s advisor, Niktar Kaojian led us to his home to provide as much information as possible. It seems that our first our of business is to travel to Beril to find Iese Karmarian, the father of the only known escapee of the goblin wastelands, Arno Karmarian.
Our task laid out before us, we assemble few, we heroes, rested at the home of Niktar before the coming journey by sea to the great city of Beril!
The Journey Begins!
Upon the morn, a great breakfast feast had been assembled by Niktar’s servants, splendid! We were informed as to the name of our craft: Thunder Tide! May the deeds of her motley crew ring through the ages as legend!
She’s as true as told, we learned soon after amongst the smells and sounds of the great dockyard of Weton. Long in draft and thick in bow, she’s what every barmaid hopes to see at the end of the night. We found her well equipped for the coming journey.
Night hours out to sea we encountered a wrecked ship, cracked and torn, lodged into a reef as we passed carefully… Razmik used his keen eyes to assess the ship as we passed, lo he told what he spied: signs of attack! This ship was not run aground but keel-hauled I say, by nasty goblins no doubts.
Hours later the weather had turned to light rain and the wind worked against our desire to travel northwest. As night approached, we spied small village of Zadig, which I had not visited prior in fact. We took to their dock, where met us a kindly man singing the praises of Habbakuk!
This wonderful man, Mastag Kupelian, the village elder, welcomed us into his home, provided drinks, and fine fare prepared by his beautiful wife Hayrabed. We met his wife and a brave young man under his care. That every day of this journey might provide us with such fine company and lodgings! The conversation turned to matters of the present. Lo that Mr. Kupelian would know the story of Arno’s travails, and his present location upon the rocky shore of Oak Island!
Suddenly the nasty monkey being cared for by the old coot came barreling into the hut, tipping a table before rushing back out. I’d no choice but to interpret this as a sign of impending danger! The danger was in fact immediate as mine yes did see a score of sahaguin’s trudge from the waves, primed for battle. My first two arrows found purchase, spilling the cold blood of two of them into the sand. The sahaguin of the shores sure lived up to their fearsome reputation! The sands ran muddy with the foul liquids as we slayed them one by one! Much rejoicing ensued amongst the villagers, as certainly we became legends that night!
The Sahaguin’s have been Slain!
From the complaints of the villagers, it is quite apparent that the king has neglected to send forces to protect Zadig from the semi-regular sahaguin attacks plaguing the area. But then after a wonderful sleep full of glorious dreams, the tall tales of their “warriors” brought on many questions better left unanswered. To Razmik, the pleas held water for he promised aid to the village upon his return.
To sea we then set, to Oak Island our bow points! The king’s son awaits rescue, we shall not tarry!
The sea was kind though the wind tried to push us back to Grandish as we cut towards Oak Island. Our only excitement was when a group of beautiful sharks chose to tail our wake. Argalan dumped chum – remains from the sahaguin he’d brutally butchered after they’d been slain. This act was prescient though as it kept the sharks nearby to thwart more sahaguin that attempted to board the ship! In the end, this only resulted in a bloody show for our gleeful eyes. From bow to stern the old man’s craziness knew no boundary as he soon was mimicking the sharks before speaking to them. That I’d not known of his abilities, I’d have labeled him a metal defective.
The wind remained kind once turned, revealing Oak Island, beautiful and stout with her tall namesake trees! There she was at last. The island’s reputation proved itself immediately, especially that of Jermlaine & Tubs, the rowdiest tavern in all of Grandish. By the king’s decree, a pigeon’d been sent to hail for more aid in our quest, as evidenced by the four tough Kapoian brothers who waited our arrival. Quite the rowdy night we spent carousing, drinking, singing and viewing the regular pugilistic crowd before crashing in the upstairs rooms for a night of rest before striking out for Arno’s hut in the morning.
Morning on Oak Tree Island
That first night on Oak Tree Island was made quite interesting by the sounds of revelry and boisterous amorous liaisons in the alley outside our window. But nothing cancels the discomfort of a long night much like the wondrous odor of Grandishian breakfast meat. After stuffing our gullets, we set off north for the home of the mysterious Arno.
The coastline of Oak Tree Island is quite diverse in natural wonders. Increasing signs of the recent passage of giant crabs showed along our path until suddenly, we spotted a handful of the creatures off in the distance. By the grace of Habbakuk the crabs moved off without issue, and within due time we reached the homestead of the famous hermit of Oak Tree Island.
After introductions led by Feliki, Arno welcomed us into his modest home. The conversation continued over warm coffee and succulent treats, generously proffered by our host. To my disappointment, Arno failed to possess much beneficial information for our quest, but while speaking to him I hatched a plan. Our best chance of infiltrating the goblin wastelands without attracting a large-scale defense is to intentional goad a raiding party into boarding our ship. My friends agreed quickly that this plan would offer our greatest chance of success.
After our visit with the hermit, we quickly headed back to Thunder Tide, pulled ropes aboard and set forth south, straight for the shores of the goblin wasteland! Within hours the sea turned sour to our passage. Rain washed over our bow while the waves crashed higher and higher! The great natural wonder of Habbakuk’s waters, alive and writhing around us. Mere minutes after the cessation of frothing danger, the slick tentacles of a giant octopus slammed down upon the boards of Thunder Tide’s stout deck, whipping towards me with blind fury! All eighter tentacles lashed our bodies relentlessly until finally the last blade sleuthed through its meat. The sea was angry that day my friends, the sea was angry.
The Open Sea Beckons
And so we continued south, fighting the sea and her brother, the winds of Mean Triangle (note: use this one often. Maybe it will catch on).
From what remained of the octopus, dinner was prepared. I found the dish to be very succulent and quite interesting in fact. I am certain that some of this was due to the unique culinary expertise of Tapu. Tis rare to see such fare survive back to shore!
During my turn at watch, I noted the beautiful sounds of a pod of whales singing in uplifting harmony back and forth to each other. Did they mention us? Were they calling out in warning of what lies ahead? The mystical encounter shall stay fresh in my mind forever.
As night turned into day and daylight brought us more unfavorable seas, my impatience rose to a point where I had to cease rowing. I directed my prayers down toward Habbukuk, filled the sack of my parkapzuk with the salty air, aiming to entice favorable winds from the lost elven lands of the north!
By the blessings of Habbukuk, it worked! The wind changed, rushing us forward towards the shores of the accused goblin wasteland. And by the waves, what did soon appear on the horizon but the unmistakable outline of goblin raiding ships. To arms, to arms! The battle cry rang!
Back and forth the ebb of the battle waned. The old coot made us blind, hindering our ability to fight off the horde. Finally when all seemed lost, we overtook the remaining goblin skiff, boarded her, and pitched her divinely entranced crew (the old coot redeemed himself) overboard. Those remaining shall serve as our slaves until which time slitting their throats becomes the better option.
Land Ho!
Our captives in tow, we slowly headed towards land looming in the distance. The night passed with little more than the annoyance of our new friends. Upon first light, we set full sails for shore, intent on making landfall as soon as possible to take full advantage of the well-known aversion to fighting in daylight.
And lo the fight was on as the first waves lapped our bow! Wave after wave of goblins poured down off the cliffs towards our positions. It felt as if hours had passed in mere minutes. My sword arm ached, knees weakened, calves burning with the ache of constant action. Goblin blood flowed in streams, sprayed upon lips licked in desperation, darkened eyes as it dropped maliciously. Fog finally dissipated on the field of battle with our party standing above the fray!
Goodbye Argalan, you will not be missed!
And so it came to pass that after the great battle with the goblin forces on the shores of their wasted island, the aloof and worthless Argalan The "Wise" wandered off into the blasted landscape, never to be seen or more importantly, heard from, again.
As blood cooled, hearts calmed, and conversation arose over the fires of our campsite, the hours passed without his return. The question left unspoken was certainly a telling sign: did any of the brave adventurers truly care?
So endeth the story of the old washed-up druid, fool of Grandish, weasel of Weton, oaf of Oak Tree Island. May his many names never be forgotten so the children of Grandish shall not repeat his many follies.
The following is a short ditty to commemorate the disappearance of Argalan the Fool.
Ye wandering fool, ye blithering idiot, a’where did ye go?
A question wise left unanswered for found ye shall confound!
The sage of stupidity, the professor of tomfoolery,
Oh ye astute ass of all sagacious insufficiencies.
Wander fer’ever ye jester of the wastes.
May the wolves find ye bleached white bones studying the stars above
As the goblins dance where your last buffoonery delighted no one
Ye wandering fool, ye blithering idiot, a’where did ye go?
Onward into the wastes
As goblin and worg blood congealed into the sandy ground, we set to work preparing for the long slog into the wastes. Our journey began behind Nakahi’s nostrils glued to the ground, sniffing the prince’s fading scent to the east. Nigh an hour had passed fore we encountered a clutch of hyenas ravaging some unfortunate creature who’d left its meat for their jowls to render. We struck them down, fierce beasts of the wasted plains. Their prize only what remained of a goblin rider and his worg, likely sent to hail reinforcements against our landing.
The great sun waned here, dipping below what few bouts of terrain broke the flat expanse before us. My prayers chased Habbakuk above as he crept away from us for the night, that our journey might continue unhindered in the morn. And that Argalan should remain lost to the ages (buried haphazardly by goblin picks no less).
When Habbakuk returned pushing his light before him, the others related that deep in the night a scorpion had invaded our camp whilst I slept soundly under the watchful eyes of my god, dreaming of feast after feast upon our return. That I may have seen my companions tiptoeing and dancing around as it nipped their feet!
On we marched deeper into the goblins’ kingdom, ever closer to a canyon distant to the east. The first full day was naught but a slog, notable for else besides our aching feet. Once more we set camp, now very near to the canyon’s edge. By Habbakuk’s blessing, this night passed uneventfully.
But lo that the next morning our peace was broken frightfully. Three horrid ankhegs arose from the blasted ground in front of us, claws and maws bared to crush our feebly soft bodies! Mandibles cracked, pincers clamped, poisonous spittle rained down sizzling my brother’s skin, but in the end we stood victorious above their steaming chitinous bodies! Now tis time for breakfast!
The Long and Lacking Road
Leaving behind the nasty giant ground bugs, we slogged through the high grasses all morning towards a the slowly rising rim of a canyon. Still two miles out from the crevasse, I picked up the faint grumbling voices of two worthless goblin guards ahead. Razmik dispatched Nakahi to perform a sneak attack which ended their miserable lives, but then more burst forth from above us on small hills! Yet again we found ourselves engaged in a test of our increasing martial experience! These goblins, though seemingly disgruntled and underfed, fought valiantly for their lives. They exhibited far superior tactics than those we’d previously faced. When the dust settled, by Habbakuk’s grace we managed to capture their leader!
Strangely, as I collected those spent arrows which appeared to have some service left in the shaft, it occurred to me that one of the larger rocks had shrunk itself, and MOVED! Odd sounds fill my ears not unlike the cacophony of inexperienced musicians wailing for coppers in Wetons poorest wards. What strange magic possesses this place? We shall seek the answer to this question soon…
What Was That Sound?
These unsettling observations sent me rushing back to the group to explain what I had found. Razmik expressed his frustration with our progress towards freeing the Prince, and the others were intent on squeezing every last drop of information (and blood) out of our new captive, the goblin sergeant Razzle. Razmick sent Nakahi to sniff the area. Her keen senses revealed the direction the prince was taken: into the looming canyon of course!
Though hanging from a tree, bleeding and starved, Razzle the little rascal pushed back against our needling questions. As his life hung in the balance, seconds from death, he claimed to be able to take us into the canyon fortress to meet his chieftain. Unfortunately for him, his information was worthless to my more ruthless companions. Zantar the despicable finished him off with a blade to the rear-end. And so went Razzle, his death recorded here for posterity (or posterior?)
To the wall of the canyon we marched! Those formidable cliffs stood before us, over 300’ high in places. As we neared a cleft between the walls allowing passage within, strange animal sounds and that of dogs barking reached our ears. As I moved cautiously, something jumped up and bit me! An attack cactus, living and with intelligence enough to smite me as I passed near!
As we moved into the funnel created by the walls of the canyon, we encountered two-headed dog-like abominations locked in mortal combat with the strangest birds I have ever laid eyes on. We moved quickly and quietly along the far side of the path, against the cliff, to avoid this fracas. As we made our way past that violent scene, a giant beast burst from the ground. It was as a mother’s tale to scare children to sleep. Even a quickly stolen glance was enough to strike fear into our step and elicit silent prayers to the ever-gracious Habbakuk. We darted past by his will alone I am convinced.
For hours we walked on, nary a bird in the sky, eventually resting in a darkened nook formed by a bend in the rock wall. The undisturbed rest we enjoyed that night was well-deserved. The road is getting long.
At daybreak, Armen reported a wonderful dream about our parents. They visited him in the night, resplendent under Habbakuk’s eternal care. By his divine grace, each of us found a healing goodberry tucked into a pocket somewhere on our person. This small sign renewed my faith that our god watched over this foolish quest.
It was not long into our resumed march that we came upon the gateway into a large goblin complex. We easily overpowered the pitiful guards. Now we stand before the mouth of this den of horror. Three sun-bleached human skulls stand watch over the tomb-like entrance, beckoning us to follow their fate. Does the prince await us inside? Is he even still alive? There’s no turning back now.
Into the Depths
As our last enemies expired, we stole back to the protection of a large boulder, there to formulate a fool-proof plan to invade the goblin stronghold. Razmik quickly scrawled a note upon a section of my parchment, attaching it to Nakahi’s neck for her to wing back to our ship so our stalwart companions back at the shore should know we remain of this world.
We assembled into a defensive formation before moving cautiously into the complex. Our thieving friend Zantar led from the front, his first foray into true danger! Nary moments into the tunnel, a worg was bearing down on him, so he attempted to retreat for our fighters to confront the nasty dog-beast.
From my position in the rear, I began a chant sure to bolster the fortitude of my companions:
Cry Dirigian oh man of Grandish! Humble thine enemies before our advancing line! Absorb their women into the tribe that they might learn what a true warrior man is!
As sure a Habbakuk’s grace shines upon those who heed his call, Tigrin smashed the worg to pieces with a single blow!
Our column surged past what remained of the dead worg. Having known him for our entire lives, I feared for Razmik as his love of the vast lands of our youth did not prepare him for the confinement of this wretched warrens. A true warrior of Trebizond, he fought through the fear as best he could. On we pushed, tight to each other, facing each threat as it came. Then suddenly we found ourselves overwhelmed in the tightest of passageways. As the battle raged, a captive from the prince’s ship cried out in pain ahead, steeling our resolve to slaughter the foul goblin slavers. Razmik and Tigran reached him first, I behind them. His name was Malu, and he died in my arms, too far gone for even Habbakuk’s vast power over life and death.
Enraged, Razmik charged forward through another tight space to confront a goblin leader and his harem of concubines. Then he was gone! Fallen into a pit! Only moments after Malu’s death I found myself desperately pulling Razmik recover from that dank hole. The warrior in him exploded. With the power of anger, frustration and Habbakuk’s desire for justice, Razmick leapt over the pit, rushed into the fray and slew every goblin he encountered ahead before Tigran and the rest of us finished off the remainder.
To the Captives!
The little buggers fought viciously, with wave after wave coming out of holes and cracks unseen as we swung sword and spear to save our lives! Amidst the swirling dervish I nicked mine own leg, the as gash wide as my eyes from the shock! As the blood dried, Zantar ran up bearing a beautiful sword revealed to be magical! I shall name her L’Aquitaine! The paths ahead became far too tight for us to wiggle through, so we doubled back down one of the wider tunnels we’d earlier ignored. Into a warren we stumbled, their disgusting bedroom. More goblins fell to our blades like stunned mice to a heavy boot.
Through the tunnel of excrement we forged on, turning a corner quickly where L’Aquitaine first tasted blood, cutting down a cowering goblin. I ran forth enraged, only to fall into a trapped pit! The pain was intense! I was forced to call upon Habbakuk’s saving grace once more to seal my wounds. The blasted place seemed to be full of traps from inch to every inch.
We have cleared this disgusting den without finding the prince! Thankfully, we found a map that seems to indicate the location of their main complex, the chief’s den as it must stand. Onward we go. Ever onward until the dear Prince has been found!
Where do we go now?
Before the new journey, we needed to rest. The goblin hovel was our best option for shelter, as terrible as it was. After praying to heal my brother and Tigrin, and offering further ablutions to Habbakuk, I drifted off to sleep. The respite did not last though as soon I was awoken by the strangest creature gnawing on my arm! I snapped to, stabbing it with my trusty dagger as the others wrastled with their invaders! I turned only to see a second little bugger in front of me, felling it as well. Ah Ha! Nasty little bastards these alien creatures were, but they failed in whatever their goal may have been.
Upon the morn, we set off east using the goblin map and some sign of their passage as our only guides. We cautiously moved through the canyon until nasty goblin arrows rained down from above. Thence, we bolted! Luckily from their perch far above, the goblins could not follow. Quick movement became the name of the game from that point forward.
Having put many miles between us and the ambush, we encountered a strange sight wherein goblins appeared before us while the sound of more of their kin in desperation echoed off the canyon walls. We ambushed them in turn. I felled one quickly with my bow before firing upon another as they fled. Soon we found ourselves at the mouth of a funnel, wherein the cries of the goblins grew much louder.
Before we knew it, three wild dog-like beasts charged forth into our midst, slashing and biting with their vicious teeth! It was a violent battle, but we slain the beasts where they stood. The stench of their reeking bodies nearly knocked the whole of us to the ground! Cucklefucks, they were.
Slogging On
Quickly we tried to leave the scene of the crime. Suddenly, the boulders around us came alive! Such a lively conversation was had with these fellows. I beseeched their blessings on our journey, that their fellow rock-beings might shade our path. The leader of the group passed a gem to us so that we might identify the friendship we share. Finally, the lot of them returned to their silent watch, causing us to press on.
As dusk approached, we found ourselves within 2 miles of the goblin complex. It was time for a rest within the shade of the ancient stones. By the grace of Habbakuk, our night passed without harassment. In the morning, the hint of goblin stench wafted over us, reminding us where we lie. And of course, some goblins appeared presently, only to be slain by our blades.
Before us, the entrance to their complex lie open…
For every inch we fought. For Grandish!
Through dimly lit hallways we waded through the blood of wretched goblins. Bursting through a door we came to a feast hall. To the death we committed our blades save for their captain. I sent the full force of Habbakuk’s power through my holy seashell to enthrall him into friendship. Glak was his name and by the power of my faith he led us straight to the captives! There was Prince Davit, waiting for our divine smite to free him, but to our surprise, a fellow captive was tied nearby!