One Hundred Sixty Fifth Day in the Seventh Kingdom
– Freehold
The war has gone poorly, or extremely well for the forces of Primus. I suppose one could never say a war goes only in one direction for from the other side a crushing defeat is a resounding victory. The forces of the cult of supremacy have grown vast indeed, all around this little town his minions march. We live each day on borrowed time, it seems all but certain this little enclave will be snuffed out. Even the might of the Brotherhood is insufficient to stem this growing tide; their forces have deployed far from town and have been encircled by Primus’s wicked followers.
Just this day we learn that the Bastion of Hope has been overrun and noble Pendrakkens fell before leaving their post. This close to our doorstep the fight has come, and it promises to come closer still. The inhabitants one and all rush from hiding places to another, no one lingers on the streets, none give my shop more than a glance and I’m nearly forced to shutter it. As with so many things in winter it seems that in this season even safety has become a rare and treasured commodity. To help defend our homes a militia is being mustered, with what organization can be created swords are enlisted to keep safe this town.
I suppose one could argue that any who take comfort and refuge here are obligated to volunteer in its defense. But this is after all a military structure and there are so many of us that ought never be a part of something like that. I gently deflect the entreaties of my friends and acquaintances to enlist in this militia, confident that I can make myself useful to them and to the defense of this town without playacting as a soldier. I receive word from my fleet confirming my belief that a course into the maw of war is not what I should be sailing. I’m advised to follow the old ways and drift with this rising tide preserving my life in whichever way the waters allow. I can only hope I’m able to fulfill this and what other expectations the fleet may have of me.
The Freehold Militia sallies forth to reclaim some of the lands occupied by the cult in their last thrust. With organization and bravery I’m sure they will be able to beat back this darkness. Speaking of darkness I linger a while in town as the soldiers march off, speaking with a mysterious woman from the sunless lands of Kali Ishtar. She too is a merchant and traveler so we have much to speak about. I offer her assistance as she settles and starts her business here. Its difficult to read someone from so different a culture but I’d wager a few gold that I’ve found another friend and ally here. Sounds of the fighting draw closer and I decide to make certain my other friends are safe and sound, following a small group out into the wilds.
The forces of Freehold are assembled in a sizable host out here in the darkness. There are waves upon waves of his vile cultists, men drawn from the cast offs of society to swell his ranks, and worse out in the woods, the hideous beings we call hunters too stalk among the battle lines, set loose to further bedevil the town’s defense. After a long fight the Bastion of Hope is reclaimed. Much of the force returns to enjoy a deserved meal and rest at Annie’s. I think it unlikely we could retain the ground that’s been earned, but perhaps it won’t be too difficult to reclaim yet again. Annie’s fare does not disappoint, even in these times of winter and war.
I join an elemental procession lead by Rasputin as a novel way to spend the evening. I learn that I am indeed as visible and as much a known quantity to this town as I suspect. I offer that for my betterment I will attempt to learn as much of the other townsfolk as they know of me. During the procession another hunter appears from the woods, wandering into town from a wholly unexpected direction. Truly Freehold lies in the grasp of Primus, it seems but for the closing of his fingers do we still stand free. Following this attack another force sets forth to retake lands and beat back the darkness again.
In time the Bastion is reclaimed where a most curious thing happens.
A spirit visits the Bastion, one visible even by those the spirits have not chosen and laid their hands upon. It is the form of the gentle old troll that came to Freehold so recently in the company of the others from that mountain kingdom of Ixia. The same that I might add many of us fed upon after his demise, showing respect to his knowledge and his people’s traditions. He has many things to say, and many gifts to give, while he lingers with us he shares bounty of the woods, a fragment of some ancient parchment and blessings in the fight against Primus. I could almost swear this parchment bears the same writing as that I translated what seems like so long ago, when first the town learned the name Primus.
As we make our way back to our beds a small force claiming allegiance with the Verdant Vale asks our aid. It seems they too have been lending their strength to keep Primus at bay, and they have seen an opening we may exploit. With Jochimo and a few of the Fir’Bolg we go in hopes of raiding an encampment and disrupting the flow of supplies to the enemy forces. The plan becomes to impersonate followers of Primus to move freely in the camp, and at the opportune time to steal the supplies we hope to find. The druids also suspect a part of the parchment may be among these cultists as well. Let it never be said we didn’t try, but we were perhaps the least successful infiltrators I had heard of. Our ruse seemed well and truly discovered when things grew worse.
The terrifying form of Primus himself appears before us, his hideous glow and frightful form striding mere feet from us. The time to flee had passed so again we try to pass ourselves off as his subjects, even kneeling before this vile force from ages past. He cuts down on of his loyal cultists, with scarcely a pause, and with no reaction from his other followers. About this time the fear in my heart has nearly taken hold of me, its a struggle to resist the urge of every fiber of myself and of everything I’d ever learned which all screamed RUN. He orders Jochimo to kill me, then me to kill him, after some bad lying on our part he decides to take matters in hand.
I’m on the ground, one knee in what mock deference I can muster, feeling the dread he emanates as surely as the winter’s chill. I watch in horror as he steps closer to me, his silence more terrifying than his words had been. I shudder as my mind races with possibilities and hopes in the face of such a desperate situation, he lifts his massive silvery scythe as I take a deep breath. The blow swings down, wickedly sweeping through the air, through the space I had just occupied. A few feet further I crouch a moment, shocked that my luck has held, the answer the pleading of my ancestors and run. The swiftest of his cultists I have yet to come across takes flight and chases me down in the dark of the wood.
I did not need to lie bleeding on the icy ground for long however. The remainder of my group volunteered to chase me down soon after my flight and arrives soon to revive me. Never so happy to be so beaten and bloodied I hurry back to the Inn. Ale has never tasted so sweet and my blankets never felt so soft as they did that night, resting warmly and safe when I might have so easily been in my final rest on the frozen ground, awaiting the circumstances that would take me down to Bat’Hala.
One Hundred Sixty Sixth Day in the Seventh Kingdom
– Freehold
When dawn’s light appears the forces of Primus have once again surged forward, their steps even felt within the town. Attacks have come in the night, some slain in their beds and others only waking by their companions screams. Immediately after breakfast there is call for aid from the encampment of the Ixians, styled Little Ixia. Myself and a few others hurry there only to learn the attack has been beaten back. A more pleasant surprise awaited us at Annie’s, sweets had been left lying about the common room, some clearly intended for specific folk and others left for whomever. I guess this could be some sort of local custom, or something more troubling but either way the treats are delightful all the same.
The fight goes on to claim and reclaim lands around Freehold. They attack relentlessly with rumors of attacks on farms and settlements, further abductions and all manner of devilry. I’m unsure how much longer the town’s militia can hold the lines against this massive force. A familiar face happens into town, though he scarcely seems the same man we all knew so well but a few weeks ago. Bryant Blackfoot returned from the Brotherhood lines a visibly shaken and much more wary man than we remember. Gone were the gambling and bravado, but he did bring valuable if frightening word.
The Brotherhood, valiant and tightly knit as any fighting force I have seen before, fought on in pitched battle against near endless numbers of cultists. The dark presence of Primus himself could even be felt on the battlefields, and his wicked influence leant to the fight alongside his followers’ swords. He tells that fully half of the Brotherhood’s numbers were overcome by this influence and fell upon their comrades. Those remaining steadfast were forced to slay or subdue their stricken brothers. The closer one draws to the fearsome presence the stronger his influence grows, I wonder if any could resist his domination from close by.
He knows something of the parchment that has been discovered, and offers his insight. Bryant feels that only three paths lead to victory over Primus, to kill him which I personally doubt is even possible, to bind him again as the ancients had done before, or to banish him to another place through the use of the ritual this parchment tells of. Of the three it seems the ritual holds the most promise, as well as the most risk for the parchment warns of the costs of failure and the greater cost of error. Even while we sit and talk the forces of the cult draw closer. They launch yet another assault upon the Bastion of Hope while we occupy it.
Their numbers are impressive and their forces are bolstered by the dark chaplains of Primus. Those of us there to defend it fight a desperate but almost hopeless attempt to retain the strongpoint. I’m pressed to the front, doing what little I can as our survivors are pressed into a tighter and tighter group, cultists all around. Just about every brave and stout warrior there is bloodied, and many laid low. Blackfoot manages to separate himself and takes flight to alert others to the battle. Soon after I see my own opportunity to flee to safety and seize it. If it hadn’t happened just the night before I’d say I’d never needed to run from so dangerous a situation, though I suppose more walked away unharmed from my terrifying encounter with Primus.
Exhaustion has taken its toll on me and despite the best of intentions I find myself unable to join the groups gathered to retake the Bastion and see to our fallen comrades. I guess some could consider this callous but I’m aware of my abilities and my limitations. If someone is needed to boldly plunge through the enemy lines and beat back the hordes of Primus, then the candidates surely do not include myself. I fully intend to survive this fight whether the citizens of Freehold are able to see through to victory or Primus completes his conquest of the region. I do hope he wouldn’t remember me and hold a grudge, though I’m not entirely sure how I’d manage under his command.
More pieces of the parchment have been recovered than those found the night before. Through the efforts of one Fir’Bolg Aislinn most of the ritual is translated. If what she’s learned is correct the ritual is one of exile and should banish Primus to another realm if only it can be performed correctly. There are still two pieces unaccounted for, and the word of the wildlings grandfather, now a woodland spirit, that one resided within Freehold hidden in a book. Groups assemble and go out to do battle with the hordes of Primus, and to look into stories of a cavern that may serve to bind Primus, but no one listens when I ask if anyone is searching for the other pieces of parchment.
That is no one listens until I speak to the right folks, Melanara, Nayesh and a few others are lingering around the inn after the bulk of the town has sallied forth. I explain the situation and they instantly see the wisdom in searching for the low hanging fruit of this piece of the parchment hidden here in town. We start naturally enough with the library within Annie’s and I believe they actually did search. After that we decide to think about what other buildings might possibly hold a book, with the list in mind we walk out to search the first few candidates. The bathhouse, my shop, the Brotherhood hall and the chapel all turn out to not hold the book we seek. Then the hovel out in the swamplands where I’m told Zero resides is searched, along with the other hovels in Little Ixia, the privy nearby and many spots in between. I became much more familiar with many of the structures in town here, but we found no parchment.
Later we end up back at Annie’s having exhausted our rather long list of possible places, which included the sacred grove, the beach and the fire circle near the original home of the Roving Tavern in Freehold. The others have returned from battle and we’re sharing tales and news. I relate that our search of the town has not yielded the sought after parchment. Blackfoot seems convinced it must be here in Annie’s library, so another search of it is undertaken. I can’t easily understate my embarrassment when in a few short minutes the parchment is found. The other missing fragment had been located during the fighting elsewhere, so all the parts are there.
With a little more diligent work the ritual is understood in its entirety. The entirety of Freehold agrees that this ritual is the best available option to defeat Primus and plans are made to prepare. I find a good hearty meal is one of the best preparations for anything and for what we hope to do this holds true. Jochimo entertains during the feast with some humor about Primus. Frightful as he was it was interesting to note that he is a rather short fearsome demon from the ancient world. The day it seems has taken the best of me, and most of my energies spent in moving this far towards the goal. I decide to spend the evening not facing Primus again but dealing with the far less frightening matters of reviewing my ledger and drafting correspondence.
When the victorious warriors returned to the inn later it was abundantly clear Primus and his fell influence had been scoured from the lands. I’m told his cultists merely slunk away after their lord was banished, I do wonder what’s to become of all of these men now. Can they truly return to their lives free of the influence of Primus, or will some darkness cling to them, or will their villages cast them out and slay them from fear of the being they followed. Regardless of what’s to come for us, or for his onetime followers we all can be confident knowing that Primus shall not trouble the Seventh Kingdom tonight.
This was fought and paid for with suffering, with blood, and even with the life of Connell, a witch of the Fir’Bolg who valiantly offered himself as bait to lure Primus into the circle needed for the ritual. Even his magics of bog and marshfire failed to bring him unscathed from his encounter. But from his bold plan, and fearlessness in the face of so fearsome a creature, Primus has been banished from this land, taken by ancient magics to another world. This town still stands free and there are many we should thank for their efforts, only some we can convey our gratitude to in person.
