Two Hundred Seventh Day in the Seventh Kingdom
– Freehold
The war has ended, and the mess that has been left in its wake leaves many questions unanswered. There are so many flooding into Freehold the town hardly seems the same as the quiet grim place it was only a month ago. Many have come here for the first time and many have come that were kept away by the fighting that plagued these lands. Familiar and new faces alike have filled the streets of Freehold again, everywhere there are those putting things back into order. There still is much that needs setting right.
Still unresolved in all of this is the whereabouts of many that went missing during the fighting. None have located any signs of Genevieve, though hope still remains that she may be located and will still be alive and well. It’s clear that whoever still has her they still have some purpose to holding her. The displaced that once made up the fearsome hordes of Primus are still about, most I imagine eager to reenter society and try to return to whatever life they lead before. Even the slain from the battles linger about, clinging to this world unable or unwilling to pass on. The shadow of the curse brought on just last moon from the slaying of that fearsome hunter still clings to the town. Many are still afflicted and there seems little hope of finding a cure.
I’m surprised to learn this night that some organization remains of those that followed Primus on the march to war. The Herald of Primus, accompanied by a few of his chief lieutenants enter Freehold under a banner of truce. In truth the marker of truce was affixed to the blasphemous standard of their exiled deity. When first they speak they claim to represent the elite fighting core of the forces of Primus. These men were not the dominated thrall, but the dedicated believers who still hold onto hope that they shall return Primus to this land. We’re told they number five thousand strong, each one ready to plunge into battle again for their cause. They have come seeking terms, wishing to maintain their force in some fashion, to keep hold of the sizable fortune in plunder, and to continue to work for the return of Primus. These negotiations seemed very complex and unlikely to find common ground; I don’t believe any settlement was reached.
I think there will remain simmering hostilities with some elements of the cult of supremacy, at least until their remnants are defeated, or an agreement can be forged. Even without the war these lands will not be an entirely safe place, here far from other outposts of civilization. I hear rumors of wolves prowling the hinterlands, feasting on what specifically I try not to think of. Surely more than simply animals lurk out there in the dark, seeking to benefit from the disorder left in the wake of war. This rebuilding will naturally have many opportunities for commerce, and I’m eager to explore all that I’m able to find. The guild even informs me they will sanction development loans to help bridge the gap from war to peace, from wreckage to function.
There is yet another development of note; and one that seems quite likely to be beneficial. The farmers and peasants have chosen someone to act as their protector and arbiter of disputes. They have named a Sheriff for Freehold and he has brought correspondence from afar, I suppose the Brotherhood is eager to let someone else deal with letters and such. I suppose in the absence of any organization some have decided to create some. I still wonder if this town will appoint some other sort of structure for governance, none of the traditions from distant lands seem likely to translate properly. Perhaps this the oldest method of choosing leaders will persist and continue in Freehold, whomever will lead, and whomever others shall follow will become the leader, so long as he’s followed. One can’t argue with its simplicity and elegance.
Two Hundred Eighth Day in the Seventh Kingdom
– Freehold
The influx of newcomers it seems has spurred a few conflicts among the townsfolk, it seems unavoidable with us coming from so many different lands. I see arguments quickly turn violent at many turns. It seems only a few poorly chosen words can spark shouting and those shouts sprout bloodshed. Its quite clear that something needs to be done to address public order and keep the town on a straight path. The people here seem so capable of rallying together in the face of terrifying foes, and yet so eager to claw at one another and keep daggers drawn when times are less threatening. I do hope something can change this pattern, but I’m at a loss to think of what might work.
While lingering about the inn, a fellow merchant comes seeking aid. He says that his goods have been left somewhere precarious; and only a thin bridge of ice remains between them and Freehold. Apparently his camp was chosen rather poorly. A number of us gather including Zero, Nayesh, The Catkin Kie and one of his kin, my nephew twice removed Pal, the gnome Sote, A wildling girl named Rake, the curious Troll Aknemilol and a female very much like him V’Tani. It seems she’s the daughter of the kindly old troll Serpentscale who departed this world so recently. The merchant was correct about the treacherous ice bridge, across a raging torrent of snow ripened waters. He did not mention the Ice elementals that bedevil the location, harrying us as we even think how to reach the far side.
Solutions are tried, many of them seem like reasonable ideas, but all of them fail for one set of circumstances after another conspire against us. Zero is the boldest and is willing to try nearly every solution that’s proposed. Akmenilol tries to use his mastery of winds to send Pal soaring across the stream; time and again the poor wildling is sent hurtling into the air without once setting foot on the far banks. We secure a rope to the far banks and first try to allow Zero to dangle from it as he crosses the distance, once past halfway we can no longer hold him above the ice and he plunges through yet again. Finally with Zero and Rake a charming wilding girl using the rope and some other materials we’d found nearby they reach the far shore. Unfortunately the ice creatures set upon them immediately and both are struck down. However before they fall back into the river Zero is able to hurl the supplies across to us. With just a little difficulty we finalize the escape. It occurs to me that I’m not sure we managed to divide the reward as we’d planned. Well a small bit of coin measured against goodwill is an even bargain.
Luckily I meet another traveling merchant and between me and Malakris, who handles much of the material considerations of the Ixian concern, we’re able to negotiate many favorable transactions. I do offer to extend membership in the Golden Tong to the Ixian Furfur, but he seems unwilling to bind himself to the organization. I can only hope he changes his mind as he seems one of the town’s most promising merchants. Malakris and Rasputin both have need of materials currently unavailable in Freehold, I’m sure I can manage to meet these requests without too much difficulty.
The farmers still seem restless and concerned for their safety, they even speak of their fellows disappearing slain under circumstances that suggest something other than roving beasts or mysterious creatures. It seems Zero has become an object of suspicion, I don’t know how but he has earned the enmity of the farmers who feel him guilty of horrible deeds. This animosity it seems flows in both directions as I hear word of armed conflict between he and the farmers. I don’t know if or what efforts were made to resolve this dispute, I even heard talk of a trial, though presided over by whom and under what authority I couldn’t guess.
There is a splendid feast, laden with all the bounties the lands and sea can provide. This is a well needed comfort and suitable celebration for a place where things may again soon be set right. The restful evening does not continue long though, soon after, while the glow from the meal is still upon us. The sheriff gathers the town, another resting place has become plagued with the restless spirits of the fallen, many will be needed to return them to restful peace. There were some hints given to Freehold’s witches to resolve this, to placate each group of restless spirits and restore them to peace. The group it seems holds members of the fallen from the cult of supremacy, the Freehold defense force and the Brotherhood.
Before we enter what I can only describe as a desolate and terrifying place, lit by the spirits of fallen warriors and forsaken even by the sounds of the living, Aislinn acting as representative for the witches offers her solutions to the problem set before us. She feels that to placate each group they must be given what they treasure most, she feels light to the cult, earth to the militia and coin to the mercenaries should still the spirits. It seemed possible this whole affair might work, but a twinge within me suggested all was not right. The troll witch doctor goes in first, using his swiftness to keep him from the grip of the spirits. Soon we all follow.
Our voices can scarcely be heard within this place; everywhere the spirits drift slowly past, swinging with spectral tendrils at any that come too close. Groups divide to place what they think will placate the spirits at the marker of each resting place. This causes the followers of Primus to soon pass back into restful slumber, but the others remain. Time passes and the fighting continues, the spirits of fallen militiamen and soldiers growing more forceful and agitated. The solutions are proven incorrect for these groups and others are sought amid this frightful place and the attacks of the dead. The symbol of the Freehold defense force is chosen, the red armband, and one located and soon these spirits too can find rest.
The fallen of the Brotherhood grow still more strong and fierce, townsfolk huddle near their marker struggling to placate these spirits. I manage to make my way there; to offer what I feel is the solution. These men, yes they are mercenaries, but their very name conveys what matters most to them. Like so many soldiers their greatest feelings are for those they fight beside, they care most for the brothers they have found within their force. The men and women that have bled and suffered beside them, and those that have fallen and passed into death have their deepest love. Bryant spoke of a symbol of reverence to their fallen not one month ago, the white eagle shield, which always is kept under cover, in a place of honor. This then is what is needed to placate the spirits, even in death they honor their comrades. The shield however was left back at the Brotherhood hall far from this frightening place.
Even as others see the wisdom in my logic, and realize what’s needed to resolve this, none head for Freehold. I whisper to all close enough to hear me that someone should retrieve it. Soon, even the lands themselves seem to turn on us and every living soul that remains here starts feeling the icy fingers of death. Now the time had come and past, whether any would follow or not I won’t die here. I implore others to go as I leave, only one walks away from this place with me. As we pass from the graveyard we feel the wall of force close behind us, we may never be able to return, but to stay was folly and to go may save those inside.
Walking beside me is Sergeant James O’Connell, an honorable and proud soldier and one of my first friends made here in the Seventh Kingdom. I could scarcely have asked for better company. As we hurry towards Freehold I explain what we need to end this nightmare, we talk and believe the young houndkin Toby will be among those back at Annie’s inn, and believe his swift legs can carry the shield back across the boundary into the graveyard. The Sergeant rushes to get the shield as I hurry into the inn to find Toby, I learn he’s asleep but we are able to convince Zora, a Shaedling lady to carry the shield. Another charming lady Rose agrees to go with us and we set out again.
On weary legs we all run through the wilds, the shield is taken across the boundary, placed where its needed and all set right. Even from far away we can see that the magics active here have ceased. The dead can rest and the living owe their lives to those willing to carry the burden, those willing to listen. I said it once that night, and I’ll say it again whenever I speak of this night. Much of the thanks are owed to Sergeant James O’Connell and the lovely ladies Rose and Zora. I wouldn’t count my small part in events as anything worthy of commemoration, but theirs should resound in song someday.