The Crimson Compendium

[Vindicated]

Month 6 (Kythorn) Day 21 Year 152

Starting to settle on the new isle.

I ran into Ravio, of all people. His family sent him here from Waterdeep to see about negotiating new trade routes with the people on this isle. He seems ecstatic about the opportunity - knowing him, he’ll get a bit ahead of himself on the steps. A trip, a fall. But he’ll bounce back. Always does.

He suggested I join the Azure Scrolls. They’re nice enough; grateful for the supplies we leave them and overall welcoming thus far. I haven’t met many of them, but I’m supposed to meet with one to question others about an egregious abuse of magic. I’m not really much for investigative work, but I don’t want to be too selective in the tasks given to me, I suppose.

Slavery seems to be common on the isle. Enough that people are trusting of the shackled, even if they have under-dwelling masters or refused to break free of chains. It seems counter-intuitive. Endangering. Willful ignorance that could, eventually, cost the lives of the unaffiliated. I tell Ravio to exercise caution, not cruelty, and he is receptive of it. One of one spared, for the time being.

In line with their prevalent trusting nature, the locals appear to be exceptionally generous to new arrivals. I met a man who had donated to the Nomad’s donation barrels - Leon, I think his name was. He had seen me rifling through them before, and struck conversation to donate upfront. The sword I received wasn’t new, but it’s in remarkably good condition. No cost. Only asked that I pay it forward.


I’m considering creating a branch of the Everwatch Knights on Arelith for this purpose. I’ll need to speak to Ravio to see if it can be realized for the long-term. But for now, this is just a footnote in a long list of things I need to take care of.

[Vindicated]

I think I've made a friend. Maybe. It's been some time since I last interacted with someone outside a ward-protector agreement; my socialization and ability to read casual interactions are somewhat shot.

A half-elf Nobanionite. Quick to quip. And while open about many things, he strikes me as a very guarded individual. He knows many people, but seemingly only at arm's length. I sense there are emotional walls put up to keep others out.

Cordorians are increasingly unhappy with a lycanthropy problem. 'Willing werewolves', they call them; individuals who refuse the cure to their affliction, their curse, or as they call it 'The Gift of Malar'. I suggested they petition a pariah status for all those that refuse the cure, but I fear the current administration may not act due to conflict of interest. But if many voices speak in favor, maybe they'll have no choice but to do so.

As an aside, I was finally able to speak to Mister Wotan, who was more than willing to help piece together a profile for a wild mage Miss Paige wanted me to investigate. There was more information than initially thought, and perhaps some details previously omitted or lost with the reports that went missing from the Guard barracks. In addition to Mister Elias, he suggested I also speak with a Leon Griffith. This is a lead I'll need to follow later.

More importantly, Ravio has gone and made himself some enemies of the pirates. I'm not sure what he did, but the man who knocked me into the sand seemed awfully hellbent on teaching him a lesson. I failed in my duty today. A rookie mistake; simply not having prepared a single spell that could have ended it before it began. I believed I wouldn't need it. I thought I had found peace here.

I came here to avoid more bloodshed, but I fear that this may be impossible. There are too many who would put others in danger through arrogance that they could control beastly urges, vehement denial of their inherent risk to those around them, or those who simply are quick to senseless violence.

Pacifism can only work so long, and only with certain types of people. I need to become an enforcer, rather than remain a protector. This is not how I was to atone for my sins, but gods willing Helm will understand that it is the only way to keep my ward safe.

[Vindicated]

I can't sleep.

It's been, gods, I don't even know how many hours.

The inn is too quiet. My thoughts, too loud.

When I notice my heart resting, it begins to race with the guilt that I stole this chance from others.

What gave me the right? What gave any of us the right to steal the beat from another man's heart?

This steady rhythm should have ceased in Maztica.

[Vindicated]

I’m beginning to seriously question the capability of the Cordor Guard. A good majority of the men are loyal; dutiful in their shifts and watch of the districts. But one man comes screaming about a warlock in the sewers, and suddenly no one wants to leave their post. I suppose they’re lucky enough to have good Samaritans volunteer to step in for the small one-off instances of lawbreaking.

Now, I admit I’m not as familiar with demons and devils as I ought to be, but I’m fairly sure the gentleman I encountered was pacted to some abyssal figure. He wasn’t particularly powerful, and seemed ignorant of the gravity of summoning a mane within city limits (even if it was in the sewer tunnels that run beneath it).

Against better judgement, I let him go. An unfairly matched arse-whooping does nothing to teach the difference between right and wrong. Solveig, and Garlyn informed him of the drastic differences between summoning a fiend and conjuring a simple elemental or woodland creature - which I felt sufficed as a warning. He could no longer plead ignorance of the law, nor of the nature of that he calls upon.

The bard man followed the other after we parted, and returned to inform that he had ‘seen the mane again, plain as day’ as soon as we cleared out. Subsequent searching through the sewer produced no evidence of this claim. There was not a hint of trail leading to the warlock man, nor his fiendish companion.

Upon resurfacing, I saw Jace for the first time in some months. He seemed… off. Not as cheery, nor social as I remembered. A guard threw him out of Cordor for displaying a sight too gruesome to put into detail, and went to Brog.

I still don’t know what happened, even hours after everything. There was an attack at the dwarf stronghold? Sharrans, reportedly. People fell in battle, and he made a split-second decision to attempt preventing foul necromantic animations through severing heads from the bodies of his friends.

There was a lot of yelling. Threats, calls to violence; retribution and vengeance. He left the gathering

He left, at the behest of his comrade in the Shields of Guldorand. I found myself outside with him, talking about mistakes. I understood him. More than he could fathom, I know what it’s like to be ostracized by your peers for actions made - even ones ordered by commanding officer. I offered to protect him, as is my duty, until the issue blows over.

He and Garlyn had a confrontation regarding a threat made from Jace to the Kelemvorite, but it didn’t seem to go anywhere. Neither were willing to budge on the issue, and eventually Garlyn left. Solveig and Jace had a few words, but eventually he left alone.

I hope he picked up his repairs.

[Vindicated]

[WIP]

[Vindicated]

[WIP]

[Vindicated]

Something terrible is happening.

I saw a sickly logger stumbling his way out of Guldorand. His veins bulged beneath stretched out skin, and a crystalline reddish-purple scale speckled across his neck and collarbone. He let me accompany him to ‘work’, but he cut down no trees.

Instead he went to the Howling Pass leyline, and ripped a shard of stone from his skin to plant at the center of the portal. A woman came forth, and fled to the direction of Guldorand. He said his work was done then. I dug the stone out from the leyline and pursued. Nel said he was supposed to come in from the west, and sent the man home for his illness.

Jace and I went back to investigate the scene, but we didn’t find anything new. On our way back, demons were conjured forth. We almost didn’t make it to Guldorand. Some reinforcements were gathered, and Jace went back out to scout the large balor we were unable to fell.

I found out that the presence of the shard, which we identified as faerzress tainted bloodstone, affected arcane casting within the direct area of its location. Mage reinforcements conjured surges of power, that they swore up and down never happened to them before - except for in the dark below.

We made a plan to banish the fiend, and to cleanse the leyline with a sort of light emitting stone. It went awry when the mages, who I explicitly told not to cast magic in the vicinity, surged several times and interrupted the banishment chant, where subsequent readings from a tome did not suffice. It was slain with some effort, and Jace set off to cleanse the leyline.

I don’t know if his efforts worked. The stone in my bag chilled to the touch. At the time I wasn’t sure why, but a feeling in my gut told me to run; run far away from any magicks, leylines, and constant channeling of the Weave. The more I ran, the less active the stone became.

I kept it at the Radiant for some hours before I was able to take it to Paige and Dimitrios for advice on how best to destroy it. We settled for dropping it into a pit of lava, to avoid any residue that could be accidentally breathed in or ingested, and spread the disease.

Turns out, that’s not the wisest choice. Groups of tendrils with too many eyes crawled out of the Talassian lava moat, and upon death disintegrated into dust that still sought to gravitate toward leylines.

We took this newfound information to Guldorand, to explain the crisis and conundrums of the bloodstone blight. During debrief, the logger who was infected earlier - Jorik - was apprehended trying to kill Dimitrios.

He was chained to a bed at the Winter’s Rest where we lightly interrogated him. But his mind was rotted, and soft from the influence of the bloodstone. He spoke nothing considerable of his captor/handler, save for confirming she was not the handler - but that he had seen her once.

Paige and Ezekiel proceeded with an exorcism ritual - which, I admit, only seemed to make the situation worse. The divine magic channeled shattered the bloodstones embedded in Jorik’s skin, and unleashed an eldritch Hell inside the clinic.

It was successful. Strictly speaking. He’ll recover, and likely without any lasting, severely limiting physical injury. But the mind is a fragile thing. He speaks nonsense. His heart is a waterfall. He’ll never ascend over the treetops now. The sky is open. Paige says the second patient was the same, but his affliction was not so set-in.

I think this man is broken, and he will not be whole again. But I tell him otherwise, so that he may have some hope.

[Vindicated]

[These pages, several back-to-back, are covered in spilled ink of numerous colors; droplets big and small. The handwriting is erratic, without order, and occasionally scribbled out or emphasized with multiple tracings over the letters. However, they all say a few legible phrases:]

Stones of the ruins split in half.

Reveal a thousand glittering eyes.

They see all. They judge all.

The sky is falling. The sky is falling.

Acid rain sears away the pride of heroes.

Tendrils suckle away the sanity of man.

All that remains is a husk.

Where there is no will, there is no a way.

We are condemned.

The sky is open.