SATURDAY, JUNE 27TH - MASTER AND APPRENTICE CAMPAIGN 1 : SESSION 18 RECAP
Aldor’s Journal : Entry 18
Killing a king was just the beginning…
Cullen's official transition into rulership looked about as enjoyable as a public flogging. The poor man was immediately buried beneath advisors, appointments, ceremonies, and all the other nonsense that comes with sitting on a throne. We were told it'd take two or three weeks just to assemble an entirely new court staff. Apparently ruling a city involves a lot fewer swords and a lot more paperwork than I'd hoped.
While Cullen was busy learning the thrilling art of governance, a young messenger—barely more than a teenager—tracked us down and delivered a letter bearing the House of Algarond crest.
Turns out Cullen wanted to make good on the offer we got from Melania what feels like EONS ago, to reinstate our shop.
Inside was a deed, signed in his own hand.
Our shop was back.
Not some rat-infested ruin either. A legitimate property in the Black Lake District. A district where people apparently bathe regularly and don't throw chamber pots out of second-story windows.
Naturally, we rushed over to inspect it.
The place was in a far nicer part of town than our previous establishment had ever dreamed of being. Unfortunately, when we arrived, the building appeared deserted. The door was unlocked, and there were strange noises coming from inside.
Because I've survived this long through a combination of skill, paranoia, and divine luck, I crept inside first.
I found a man moving crates around in the dark.
Or rather, I startled a man moving crates around in the dark.
The poor fellow nearly jumped out of his skin and dropped an entire crate when I announced my presence.
His name was Waltham T. Trask, seneschal to King Cullen himself. He'd been sent ahead to help prepare the shop. Before leaving, he handed us another sealed parcel.
The shop itself was magnificent.
Running water.
A working bathroom.
Actual space.
This place was so luxurious I half expected it to start charging me rent.
The second letter turned out to be an invitation to Cullen's coronation, signed by one Seneschal Valendra Shadowmantle—a name none of us recognized. The ceremony would be held in three days.
While the others spent their time gathering rumors among the populace, I took a more productive route and headed into the sewers.
If there were still wererats, dark wizards, or other lurking threats beneath the city, I wanted answers-I don’t like loose ends, and aside from Therhan the Necromancer, The Many Starred Cloak, and the Dark Wizards therein were a whole other end that needed to be chopped.
My investigation eventually ended with nothing in stone, and next up was to get some actual inventory for our shop. This quest brought me back to Carrion's shop. I figured I'd cash in a favor and see if he could help stock our newly reclaimed store. Carrion, being Carrion, was more than willing to assist—as long as I remembered who helped us when speaking to the new king at his coronation.
A reasonable enough request. For now.
I left with assorted inventory, another letter meant for Cullen, and the growing suspicion that every favor in this city comes with strings attached.
The next two days were spent preparing the shop. Boring work, mostly. Shelves. Inventory. Organization.
The sort of thing heroes never put in songs.
Then came the coronation.
Melania found us shortly after we arrived and ushered us toward familiar faces. Odwin and Freda were present, both looking deeply uncomfortable. Cullen himself appeared ready to faint as the ceremony progressed.
When he finally addressed the crowd, first thing out of his mouth was certainly on brand. He asked them not to call him king.
Instead, he spoke about repairing a broken city and building something better for its people.
I remember thinking “He really is different - poor soul.”
Perhaps he's simply wise enough to know what the people need to hear.
After the ceremony, Cullen pulled us aside privately.
His first official request as ruler.
Therhan the Necromancer.
The man responsible for far too many of our recent troubles.
Cullen wanted him found.
And eliminated.
Officially.
Works for me, he threatened us, but more importantly, our friends. His bill has come due.
He named us agents of the throne and presented each of us with badges bearing the seal of Algarond. He also provided additional funds to help get our business running.
For a brief moment, I considered that perhaps being heroes was finally paying off.
Melania shared what intelligence she had. Therhan had been seen in the city a week prior but had since fled west toward the Mere of Dead Men near Daggerford.
A dreadful place.
A hundred miles of cold saltwater swamp.
Ancient battlefields swallowed by the earth.
Ruins filled with drowned warriors still wearing rusted mail.
Lizardfolk tribes, wandering human settlements, trolls, and rumors of a black dragon named Ebbingdeath.
Exactly the sort of destination sensible people avoid.
Naturally, we left the next morning.
The ride to Daggerford was uneventful, which was a pleasant surprise. Upon arrival, I immediately noticed a curious detail.
Everyone carried a dagger-my kind of place…
The town's history explained why. Once called Delimber, its people had fought invaders with brutal determination. Farmers became guerrilla fighters. Fields were burned rather than surrendered. In time, they earned a new name. Daggerford. A town forged through stubbornness, which is a trait I can respect.
After securing rooms, we set out to check out some shops. First was a working class smithy and store. A more modest selection likely aimed at tradesmen and the like but I did take notice of his warranty deal plastered on the front desk “If my steel breaks, Ill replace your blade with two”. Too good to pass up for me, especially at a fair price. I bought a dagger here from Kromach, seemingly the owner of the forge, and sole owner of this establishment. Cade and Ukalis followed suit and Cade handed me his outside.
Next, we went to a much nicer looking establishment, and right away I felt less welcome. Not a complaint of the man at the desk, more so of my own past. The others purchased various supplies. Cade acquired some impressive hammer. Ukalis found a staff. I bought nothing. Mostly because I was broke as shit. To the proprietors credit, he did try to sell me a cool dagger-definitely imbued with some powerful enchantment, but for 1200 gold, I’m not his man. I can pay for 3 of my old friends from The Nest (if a guard happens to be reading this, I definitely do not still have ties to them, and don’t know anything about their current whereabouts-this is pure hyperbole) to do whatever I needed for that much while laying in bed. For someone from my upbringing, or what was left of it after my parents were killed, seeing this much money being spent turns my stomach. A blade is a blade. I’d rather spend my gold to spy and gather information, not to mention. It does seem like my partners are always swimming in gold-where I am much more on the low end of rich, but I guess that’s because I don’t loot every urn and coffer we walk by. To each their own I reckon.
The Dagger - imbued with a powerful spell. Legends call it “Fortune Burner”.
That evening we met our contact, Olimber.
Over drinks, he confirmed Therhan had passed through roughly a week earlier and continued west toward the Mere. Unfortunately, that was all he knew.
Not exactly groundbreaking intelligence, but it was enough.
The following day we left “civilization” behind.
Olimber - or contact in Daggerford
With every mile westward, the sea air became fouler.
Salt mixed with rot, decay, death.
By the time we reached the edge of the Mere, even the wildlife had abandoned the place. No birds, no animals, no vegetation worth mentioning.
Only insects. An endless sea of insects.
We camped atop what appeared to be a rocky outcropping, only to discover it was actually the remains of a collapsed watchtower sinking into the swamp.
During the night, Cade spotted torchlight moving across the darkness in the distance. The lights traveled southeast to northwest before disappearing again.
Whoever they belonged to, they wanted nothing to do with us.
Fine by me.
The following day brought us to another cluster of ruins.
Ancient structures surrounded by crude dwellings and the smell of peat fires.
Signs of habitation.
I crept ahead and found several women cooking meals inside. Ebrathir, my Wren familiar, quietly flew overhead and I tapped into his sight from a safe distance.
They seemed harmless enough. Settlers, by the sound of it.
During their conversation, however, two names caught my attention.
One was Elias.
The other was far stranger.
Chardan Searavitriol.
An elven name that felt wildly out of place in a swamp filled with humans and half-collapsed ruins.
Before I could investigate further, Ukalis decided to do what Ukalis always does.
Walk directly to the front door and knock.
To my eternal amazement, nobody stabbed him.
The man who answered asked if we were there to deal with “The Dread one” Chardan Searavitriol but quickly grew suspicious. He bluntly informed us that if we weren't seeking "The Dread One," we should leave.
So we did-since we have no idea who that is, and Ukalis didn’t seem too interested in finding out.
I know. I was shocked too.
No fights.
No explosions.
No undead horrors.
Just a brief conversation followed by a tactical retreat.
Still, the trail isn't cold.
Somewhere deeper within the Mere of Dead Men, Therhan is hiding.
And if our luck holds, we'll find him before he finds whatever dark secret he's searching for out there.
Though knowing our luck, we'll probably find the dragon first. Well find out soon, in the swamps of The Maze!
