lageronwrites

[lageronwrites]

Ams sick

taking a tiny sick leave <3

[lageronwrites]

Diary of Edmund Howell 9th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary I stayed up quite a while yesterday, and only just now awoke to the second bell. Hillover is as calm as ever, which feels almost preferable. I started off the day with a healthy serving of stew. Auntie Maja's (The Innkeeper's wife) cooking is quite good, even for a man from a Margraves household. It does however look somewhat bland, but the taste is sublime. Following that, I decided to go about exploring the town once more. I found Rorr again after a bit of peeking around. As uncouth and even crude as he still may be, he doesn't take his job lightly and showed me some new smaller places. As the third bell sounded, I decided to head back to the Freebooter's. To put it simply, they decided I was worth their time. Roark still made his usual worded jabs at me, but had apparently decided I have potential. As much as I wanna call him out on it simply being "potential", I know he is annoyingly skillful, and held my tongue for the moment. Jim then passed me a form, got me to fill it in, and welcomed me to the guild... As a trainee. It's not the best, but at least it's a trainee who fights, rather than cleans ditches. He further said he wished to set me up with a party for a small while, but would need a few hours for the people he thought would be best for the task. It's... It's a start. I wish I could have earned the respect from my sword skills on their own, but I might have been cocky straight out of the gate. We'll see how things pan out tomorrow. Goodnight Edmund -9th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 8th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary We've returned to Hillover, passed on our report, and everything should be fine. Roark and Jim are as of now discussing between themselves the verdict of wether or not I will be allowed to join. I did catch a small mention of it not being entirely up to them, but their take will have a part to play. I didn't want to do too much with the rest of my day, so I decided to study up on the bestiaries. I asked one of the workers where to go to find books, but was instead pointed back to Jim. After a little bit of back and forth, I was granted permission to temporarily visit the library and study. Seems the Freebooter's keep a few books. Not anything I can compare to the library back at home, but that was not to be expected. Have a good read, Edmund. -8th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 7th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary I'll keep it short for today. Me and Roark set off the trap this morning and high-tailed it out of there. The goblins, rather than set on treating their own kin, set out in chase in a direction. As mentioned yesterday, they are hardly intelligent, but these ones were raised in the wilds. While they might enjoy raiding caravans, they also enjoy hunting.

Tracking is considered important during hunts.

Roark was chortling in laughter on occasion as we heard the sound of wild gibberish in the distance. We were not going at it stealthily. We were actively running, only routinely stopping to hide some tracks and give false cues. I am right now feeling even more muscles in my body than earlier, burning in pain, and blessing the fact I did not purchase a full suit of metal armor.

We stopped after running for quite some time. Rest was temporary, and we would soon be getting back on our feet to continue our escape. We crossed numerous creeks and even some more rocky terrain, all to throw them off our scent. "Can't be too careful, eh?", Roark would state with that stupid grin of his. We are now camping with a dim fire, and at least I am happy to know I won't have the first shift of guard duty. According to Roark, we got closer to Hillover than expected today. We should manage to return by noon. Goodnight Edmund, get some rest. -7th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 6th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary I am not made for stealth missions. As much as I am loathe to admit it, I lack the ability to step through the woodlands as skillfully as my unintended tag-along. The way this cad moves through thickets and underbrush without shifting a single branch is impressive. Once more, this only strengthens my view of him as a suspicious person, but I can honestly not admit it adds up. He is skilled, dreadfully so. This revelation aside, this first ineptitude became massively apparent when we first stumbled upon our first opponents. I say "stumbled" because the goblins likely noticed us after I hit my leg guard against a raised root. It was only three of them, and we did manage. Roark fended off two while I alone focused on one, which honestly infuriated me even more. While I had a fine longsword, Roark used a spear alone and still managed to dance around them. Worst is, as dumb as it sounds- he had the nerve to turn and compliment me with a grin on how well I wielded the blade! I've trained for years, and I should be better than this! The goblins were however an indicator as to our actual target. It didn't take long to hide the bodies and continue our scouting mission. Hugged up against a cliff face we found their settlement, not too many, but enough to harass caravans moving on the road. I might've been a bit obviously hesitant on taking them on, but Roark simply asked me what I wanted to do. I told him flat out that we had found our target and should report back right away, but he met me with that crooked dumb smile of his. "And call it there? Thought ya had more spunk, Kid!" I wanted to punch him so badly. Instead of heading back right away, Roark dragged me around and then up the cliff. Goblins weren't known for their intelligence, but would more often than not pick places to settle for defensive purposes. As such, he theorized that there was a hidden cave mouth as well somewhere in the village. This would mean that there were likely more goblins than we could see, and we should thus "harass" them before setting off back home. As such, on top of the cliff we would amass a great number of rocks under the shadow of the night and set them up to rumble off the side come the early morning. Right now, we are resting for an early morning to come without any fire. In the morning, we pull the supports off the rocks, bombard the village with the debris, and high tail it back to Hillover. Goodnight Edmund, try not to do worse than today. -6th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 5th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary I'll admit that writing in a diary still feels somewhat awkward, but I think I am getting the hang of it. It doesn't necessarily feel as forced, but my mind is still catching up to the fact that this is for no one's eyes but my own. It's also strange to think of how expensive a habit this usually is, given the price of paper in the East. My father however claimed this book to be enchanted to have infinite pages, which I'd argue seems impossible. Nevertheless, as long as I have Ink, I have the means to write. Anywho, as to actually write down what happened today: I returned to the Freebooters today and was greeted by mostly new faces. The gruff barkeep with the receding hairline, who I asked later only to learn he's known as Jim, was joined by a new fellow at the bar who was seemingly waiting for me to drop by. First impression of the man was not good, and I believe I might have unintentionally recoiled as he turned around. In cordial terms, he was not a handsome fellow. Pockmarks all across the right side of his face, thin blonde hair peeking out from underneath a leather hood and a smile lacking enough teeth that his mouth would serve better as a sieve. Rather than clothes, he was dressed in a gambeson overlaying chainmail, his shoulders covered by the hood draping halfway down his forearms. From another angle, he might've looked like the average brawler that you find on the road, but what unnerved me the most was his confidence. As mentioned, I was not particularly discreet as he turned to look at me. Honestly, I could tell this man had taken enough beatings for a lifetime given how crooked that nose of his was. Still, he croaked back in jubilant laughter, before slinging out his quip: "If this scares you pal, you ain't gonna like what's stalkin' at night!". I was quick to refute him on that point, but he only responded with a smug grin more black than white. Jim finally broke in and cut to the chase. To join the Freebooters, the task was simple: Go to Point A, see what is going down, and act accordingly. The pockmarked man was then introduced as "Roark", a strange and likely false name in my opinion. Not like I haven't heard worse, but "Roark" seems like a shifty fellow. Either way, Roark has now become my tag-along for this mission, and we now make camp for the night in the midst of the woods. We'll arrive at the cave or camp tomorrow, but honestly, I'm finding it unbearable. Roark has been spitting puns and jokingly making jabs at me at every possibility. I can fend off goblins and monsters of all kinds, but this kind of humor? Put me down quick. Goodnight Edmund, next time, bring earplugs. -5th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 4th of Dawnrise

Dear Diary Today was the day I finally went about entering the Freebooters. As mentioned earlier, its size and overall layout indicated it seemed less like a guild than an alehouse. While I'm taught that appearances may deceive, this time it didn't. When I entered, what I could see was an open space littered with haphazardly placed chairs and tables, a once well-carved bar making its scene at the far end. Off to the right was a set of stairs trailing the wall of the building, leading to the second floor. Behind the bar, a room without a door I'd imagine is the stockroom. The place has seen some wear, which either indicates them having bought an old bar to make their hideout, or preferably, that they are an older guild. It wasn't particularly crowded, a few faces spread at their own tables. Opposed to normal alehouses, these people seemed better armed than your average peasant. No less curious about new faces than the common folk though, as all the patrons gave me pointed looks upon entering. Rather than ignoring them, I straight up asked if this was indeed the guildhouse of the Freebooters, to mixed reactions. One flat-out laughed before going back to his drink, the second simply scoffed and lost interest, and the last was kind enough to affirm my beliefs. This person, who I later learned was named Tor, was kind enough to give me a quick few answers before the barkeep simply hollered me over. I'd usually call the barkeep a stout top-heavy human fellow, but with how his loose linen shirt clung to his body, I'd rather assume it's a life of brutish strength he has lived rather than gluttony. A small conversation after, he told me the simple "description" he would claim fit the place. Rather than mercenaries, they seemed more like day laborers. While certainly some jobs are of the sword-wielding type, for newcomers it was mainly a matter of tasks the town had put up. I was offended, I am a Swordsman, not some plebian ditch cleaner (I did of course not say this out loud). I might however have caused a bit of a scene, for better or worse. Annoyance may have been written all over his face and a particularly fuzzy set of brows, but I got him to at least accept giving me a chance. As such, I am sparring with one of the Freebooters come tomorrow. Some fellow named Lark, I think he said. I am not the best, but I was trained in a nobleman's house, so I will most certainly exceed expectations. The rest of the day I simply explored the town and saw the sights. I will embarassedly admit I got lost in the end, but some coin and a beggar got me back on the right path. I never learned the name of the barkeep at the Guild, I ought to ask when I return tomorrow. Goodnight Edmund -4th of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 3rd of Dawnrise

Note: Some terms used in this post refer to races (Troll-blooded & Elvin) that I have yet to write post-able entries about, as well as the first in-character mention of currency in this realm. I will get back to that when I have better time, but may add a smaller section of footnotes whenever this kind of thing happens. Dear Diary Staying in Hillover still. The headache I expected never arrived this morning, as such I've gone about the day like normal. What I have gotten from drinking however is the pointers I much needed. An unusually hefty Elvin fellow by the name of Marlin who lives in this town as a lumberjack gave me the general rundown of where to go for my needs. Not often those long ears that chatty, but that might just be my own experience living on the border. Elvin's from the Silverwoods are not exactly recognized as friendly, and I'm getting the feel that Elvin's from outside the region prefer to keep distance.

Remembering it all after a bout of carousing wasn't the easiest, and honestly, an unfamiliar town like this feels like a maze at this stage. Rather than bumbling about the place like a witless nitwit, I hired one of the kids near the nearby well as a guide. Admittedly, some of the kids shied away when I first approached, but a more ragged-looking child named Rorr was willing to help out. He wasn't particularly chatty or friendly, but he was diligent enough. In due time I made my purchases, a Bedroll, some flint and steel, and rations. I've had rations before, and I will begrudgingly admit it will get me through my travels. I just wish black bread was softer, hardtack more palatable, and stupid though it might sound, jerky less salty. I also got to ask what might be better options for bringing on a journey, and now possess a list of things that last me longer than a fortnight. I also dropped by an Apothecary, a third or fourth-generation troll-blooded woman who at least looked like she had learned her art in the wilds. Not be it for me to speak bad about the other races, but it was frightening how intensely she made me feel uncomfortable with a mere glare. I put down enough Artisan's and walked out of there with a new batch of potions incase I end up wounded on the roads. Eventually, I thanked Rorr for his services and paid him in full, likely a bit more generously than he expected. Honestly, he was a bit on the rude side of things, and the way he carried himself almost made it feel like he dared me not to pay. Still, a service done in full is deserving of payment, and it's hardly as if he didn't handle himself well. Lastly, I went by the place where the Freebooters supposedly make their home. It wasn't a large place, more befitting a small alehouse rather than a guild or organization. Sadly, It seemed closed at the time of me visiting. According to a nearby bypasser who I asked, the major members of the guild was having the day off due to it being the last day in the week. An unfamiliar matter, but it would seem they do well enough for themselves to find that kind of economical lee-way. I will simply have to visit tomorrow. Which is good, as I realize my funds are draining quicker than intended. Goodnight Edmund. -3rd of Dawnrise

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Diary of Edmund Howell 2nd of Dawnrise

Dear Diary

I have arrived in Hillover without any larger issues. The guards at the gate were cordial enough to point me in the direction of a good enough inn called "The Damsel in Mattress", which I only have the slightest qualms about in terms of name. Nevertheless, I've spent the day mostly recuperating from the venture. The food I bought with me I've had to get rid of, especially when I caught whispers from a bypasser that I smelled like sour meat. I have hopefully rid myself of that scent as is, but a basin of hot water was all the inn had to offer. With that in mind, what awaits me now is to deal with two things. One is the issue of using this experience of mine to purchase the right things for my next venture, and the second is to find somewhere to peddle my services. Proud I may be, but I am not above working as a mercenary. I caught some rumours about the "freebooters" earlier today when I first arrived, and believe they may be looking to hire. I will look into it tomorrow, but for now, supper and ale beckons me downstairs. Goodnight Edmund, drink in moderation. -2nd of Dawnrise

[lageronwrites]

Diary of Edmund Howell 1st of Dawnrise

Dear Diary Hillover is finally within sight! I am dirty, tired, and honestly, already quite weary of travelling. I would rush towards the town and arrive in the dim of night, but for once I'll approach my situation with a bit of caution. If I rushed it, I could probably arrive in four hours. As it stands, I am making camp atop a forested Hill and can just make sight of the town from this elevated position, but even if I rushed I would be made to wait until morning. The guards at the gate need to rest as well, don't they? And the dark of night makes it more difficult to stop ne'er do-wells anywhere. That being said, this particular journey has been an eye-opener to flaws in my way of thinking. The meat I bought didn't only need preparation, It's spoiling. Seeing as I have little else to eat than bread that I could beat a man to death with, I will still eat before it wastes away entirely.

Still though, it's nice to see the civilization after these few last days. As it gets darker, I can see the lights in the windows of homes even from this distance. Wish I were more of an artistic sort, but that sort of thing never held well with me. At best I'd slaughter the very image I'd want to retain. Goodnight Edmund, it's not far now. -1st of Dawnrise

[lageronwrites]

Howling Scourgers

Scourgers as we call them are a common sight on the fringes of society. Small things, maybe a notch taller than two feet at best, with strong-looking bodies. The shock of red hair covering their heads is at best reminiscent of a mane, in stark contrast with their gray skin and white pupil-less eyes. Scourgers have little civilization of their own, instead preferring to scavenge and raid their little trinkets around the outskirts of civilization. The only point of culture they seem to have aside from theft and savagery is their singing. Howling Scourgers might be an apt name to some degree, but they hardly truly Howl.

In reality, Scourgers harmonize and growl in unison as a host, and even utilize percussion instruments with surprising skill. When I say "Instruments" however, I refer to anything from banging scavenged pans or buckets with blunt tools, or even their own bellies. This strange phenomenon is also particularly apparent when fighting them, as the more Scourgers you fight, the stronger they become.

It is widely believed that their song empowers their own kind, and if anything- lets them act as a surprisingly well-oiled machine in combat. As such, during hunts, they like to sing loudly while wearing down their target. One of the most particular traditions they seem to use is the "Scourging Drumcircle", a phenomenon where they will enclose their target in a circle. Keeping the perimeter, they will keep singing as they effectively let a small number of scourgers fight the victim. Most of them will be pulled out before significant harm is caused to its fighters by the members of the ring, who will over time replace them in the fight. Sadly, this strange talent of theirs has made them catch the eye of nobility, who foolishly view them as prospective pets. Caged birds made to sing. A captured Scourger's song is said to be particularly depressing, and may even cause mental distress over time if rumor is to be believed.

Nevertheless, despite being the kind of scavengers that would unironically steal and wear children's clothes or even kitchen cutlery, they are not to be underestimated in groups. -The Imperial Bestiary, Page 278, Chapter "Hostile Creatures of the Humanoid Type"

Credits: The art was commissioned by me, and drawn by Ehkion over on Deviant Art. Feel free to check him out :D Ehkion User Profile | DeviantArt

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Diary of Edmund Howell 31th of Frost-thaw

Dear Diary So today has been a day. My condition is worsening as my lack of proper planning becomes increasingly more apparent. I am also realizing that the building fatigue, mixed with the amount of time I spend on making fires or avoiding particularly suspicious sounds is slowing me down. Those suspicious sounds I refer to in this case were singing in the woods. Not the kinds you might expect from a fae or wayward minstrel mind you. This was the singing and beating of drums likely belonging to Scourgers. While I have even fought a Scourger in the past, dumb little things that they are, as a group they are supposedly a threat. Especially as I am alone. Just a bit further ahead from where I heard their song, I found a mutilated traveler who had been stripped bare. I would have preferred to stop and offer the poor soul a proper burial, but given the threat close by, I simply had to continue moving on. I must remind myself to tell the proper authorities in Hillover. This might have been someone's next of kin. As for now, rest beckons, although I am hardly looking forward to the cold ground. Hopefully, tonight's sleep will be better than the last. I robbed a mossy boulder of its greenery, and I imagine it will make for a better mattress. I just have to ignore the bugs. Goodnight, Edmund. -31th of Frost-thaw

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Diary of Edmund Howell

30th of Frost-thaw

Dear Diary Did you know sleeping on the ground through the night leaves you quite cold? This morning I woke up, feeling as if the ground had sapped my strength, and I swear the ground was warmer than I was. Getting a fire going in that state was a sufficient struggle, but eventually I managed. After doing my best to cook my food to a satisfactory degree, I set out once more. Parts of my body that I didn't know could be in pain, very much do after a night on the ground. The trip to Hillover is said to be a three-day trip on foot, and while the roads are certainly well enough marked, I do feel fatigue setting in. I have seen a few faces, most of them not necessarily friendly, but cautious. It's mostly in passing, and I do not aim to seek help the first week of my leaving home. I'd imagine I am looking quite disheveled though, dirt cakes my boot and at least two of the passing travelers snickered in my direction. Fire keeps being a laborious effort for me to manage. I need to get a flint in the next town. But for now, rest.

Goodnight, Edmund

-30th of Frost-thaw

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Diary of Edmund Howell, 29th of Frost-thaw

Dear Diary My preparations were insufficient, which I am now noticing for the first time. As stated in my previous entry, I set out this morning and for all intents and purposes, everything was going well. The weather held its own, saving me from muddy boots, and the snow seemed content with staying on the slopes of the mountains. Sadly, the first issue came around mealtimes. I forgot to purchase flint, and otherwise, anything to cut wood with. I wasted the mid-day trying to get a fire going- and realizing that most of my food had to be cooked for it to be viable. I eventually managed to crudely get a fire going by hitting stones together, but the better parts of the day were gone. Setting up the rest was easy, but I was unfortunate in the fact that the stick I stuck the meat upon caught fire, dropping one of the finer slabs of meat into the blaze. I am not proud of my meal today, to put it lightly. As for the current dilemma, I forgot to purchase a bedroll. I even climbed a tree, intent on staying up there, but quickly realized I needed a rope to remain there safely. Even more a shame, this realization only hit after the ground did. I did not manage to start another fire, so here I am, feeling the night chill and trying my best to find rest huddled against a fallen tree. My blade is at the ready, but I fear that the wildlife will get to me before my shortcomings do. Goodnight Edmund, you can do it. -29th of Frost-thaw

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Diary of Edmund Howell, 28th of Frost-thaw

Dear Diary Today, I started off by eating---- I believe that is how most diary entries start for some, but I cannot help but feel awkward noting such insignificant matters about my day. Part of me is unsure what to even put on the page, but it almost helps putting these concerns of mine into writing. Starting anew: It is the second day after I left my family home behind. I have made my rounds around Tarvil, telling those I've grown up with about my intent to leave in the coming days. Most of them wished me luck, although a few were mayhaps a bit more... Indignant? Than usual. Gilbert, the Guard Captain's son, flat-out laughed when I mentioned my intention to become either an adventurer or Mercenary. Both of us have trained under his father's tutelage from a young age, and much to my distress, he was my better in the sword.

As such, when he outright gasped for air, laughing "With your skills?!", I couldn't help but feel just a bit discouraged. I wouldn't claim myself to be poor with the blade, if anything I would argue I'm better than most. After getting past his bout of cackling like a madman, Gilbert was kind enough to not only wish me luck but also offer me a newer blade that may or may not have been intended for the Guards. This gesture would have been more impactful had I not been capable of comparing him to a laughing Gnoll moments earlier.

Nevertheless, the rest of the day I spent gathering things I needed for traveling to the next town over. Mary, the Baker, suggested I attempt to hire myself out as a guard for one of the caravans heading the same direction. While her intentions are kind, and I understand her concerns, there is something almost poetic about setting out on my first journey on foot. I am looking forward to it, and I am setting out at first light come tomorrow. Goodnight, Edmund -28th of Frost-Thaw

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Diary of Edmund Howell, 27th of Frost-thaw

Dear Diary I'm not going to lie, I received this book back when I was fifteen winters of age and promptly forgot about it. "For people who may make something of themselves, keeping note of their actions is important", or so I recall my father telling me. Still, it is only now during my rise to adolescence that I actually pick it up. The roads are supposedly lonely, and as the fifth son of a Margrave, there are little responsibilities that tie me down. If anything, my father seemed almost delighted at the fact I was planning to set out and gain experience. Guessing by his remarks he would likely prefer me to enroll in the army, but I would rather not lose the agency I now have. I am not setting out from Tarvil immediately. My father likely assumes I've already left the town itself, but I have instead taken to a room in the "Mare's Respite". An arguably poorly-named establishment with lacking service, but supposedly worth the coin. I know some faces around here, and some may have heard whispers of potential coin for a wayfaring sort.

Goodnight, Edmund Howell. -27th of Frost-thaw

[lageronwrites]

An Introduction to this page's content!

So I suppose I ought to just explain what this page is real quick:

I'm not a native English speaker, and while I'd argue I'm quite decent at both speaking and writing English- I can become better. As such, I do not mind people giving me tips on the posts I make!

As for the content of what I will post, It will mainly be daily posts written in character similar to entries in a Journal. Sometimes I might drop lore pages that out-of-character elaborate on the world I'm juggling inside of my head. I like using some of the ideas I have for sessions I host with my friends :)