Lori's Tale

[Highlander]

I should not, perhaps, look back as often as I do, but given the scale of the change in my circumstances over the last year a certain degree of retrospection is inevitable. I feel I must guard myself, however, against a brooding regret over each little step, and for that matter the big steps, that have led me to even contemplate spending the night in some farmer's barn, sneaking in on the fly like some passing thief in the night. I am sure there are those of a certain philosophical persuation who would opine that to find oneself relived of almost all one's material possessions is in some way spiritually liberating, but I am finding it rather difficult to see things in that light. Such positives that I can see are my continued possesion of some arcane tomes and components, and further the wit to use them. A small smattering of acquaintances made in this part of the land also, although none of them I would classify as a friend, not yet at least. Are those the only positives? For now, yes they are, and I know there is much to be done before I can even begin to restore the family name to its rightful place in the land, and atone for my part in its downfall. I do hope that this barn does not smell too bovine.

It has not taken too many excursions with those that seek to explore the lands and to fight the twisted creatures that inhabit its dark corners for me to appreciate the risks inherent with such activity. While I am sure that attempting to assist such activity has the potential for substantial rewards, the real risk of failure and death are considerable. It is primarily for this reason that I write this journal, so should I fall to some stray arrow or blade in the wilds, then there is a chance that this will be read, and its story known. I do not presume that it is a story of magnificence or daring chivalry, but in some small way it is a comfort to know that my passing in such circumstances has a chance of not being entirely anonymous.

My name is Lori Jade Peveril, and I was born in the year of 1337DR, The Year of Wandering Maiden, perhaps a subtle foretelling of where my life has ended up. I was born to a family of Traders in the city of Lyrabar, Impilitur, following three years behind my elder brother William, who were destined to be the fourth generation of the Peveril Traders, a name familiar to many of the noble and wealthier houses of Lyrabar for our speciality was in the trading of goods from Thesk and lands to the East. Our great grandfather Julian began this minor dynasty after his travels as an adventurer and latterly merchant along the Golden Way. The travels of Greatgrandfather would suffice to fill a tome themselves, but suffice to say here that he spent several years in the settlement of Almorel, on the very edges of the great plains of the East. My family's preference for their trade goods was of course the source of my middle name. I should note here that the Trader families of Lyrabar and other cities are generally not considered part of the feudal nobility of Impilitur, although some are, but they nonetheless have their own distinct circle of influence and contacts, not to mention etiquette and a high regard for what is termed respectability. Like some of the other Trader families, mine were not firm followers of the Triad, instead placing our faith in Waukeen and Shaundakul while also giving discreet offering to the Sea Bitch for the safe passage of our ships to the East.

Early life in the Peveril home was, as I recall, idyllic and joyful. We had a villa in Lyrabar, and also a small estate along the coast, which had been named Almorel, in remembrance of the early days of our founding. It was, I am fully aware, a very privileged upbringing, as both Almorel and the Town House had their supply of servants, well paid and looked after, and William and I wanted for nothing, fully enjoying the fruits of the family labours over the years.

[Highlander]

There are many memories of those years, and it would be pointless to regurgitate them all. I recall the parties, the balls, the horse rides along the beach at Almorel, lazy summer days and warm winter ones around the blazing fires. William, as the male and the elder, was increasingly taken under my father's wing to be groomed to the running of the Peveril business. I was largely excluded from these matters, but shared much tutoring with William of historical and geographical topics, and also such assortments as the study of heraldry, which I always imagined was an attempt to impress the nobility, but which I found tedious in the extreme. What I did not find tedious were the items that wound their way west from Thesk and Shou Lung.

I still recall with wonder the first time I saw the intricate ivory carvings that my father had secured. Of course, he traded most of them on for a substantial sum, but we kept one in the Town House dining room, and I never tired of looking at its tiny parade of men and animals, carved in a three dimensional lattice that seemed beyond the hand of any man to make. Each of the cases the ivory carvings arrived in contained a small note, written in the Shou Lung script. I badgered and pestered father until he consented to hire me a tutor who was able to teach me the language properly, and I was finally able to read the simple message "Crafted by Master Carver Xin Jaio, Ivory Workshops, City of Yenching, Celestial Empire of Shou Lung." It became something of a party trick of mine to write messages in the Shou script, much to the amusement of my Trader friends, all of whose families traded goods to terribly dull places like Sarshel and Sembia.

As my studies progressed, I was overjoyed on my fourteenth name day to be gifted by my father a wonderful oak writing desk. This was one of the finest items of furniture I have seen, even to this day, with its polished veneer, leather writing surface and gilt handles to its drawers. There was even a small secret compartment buried at the back of one of the drawers! This, to many, will sound silly, but I feel quite emotional writing about this desk while leaning on a rough wooden table which wobbles slightly with every quill stroke. It is just a thing..but it, like Xin Jaio's carvings, represents in my mind so much more than a simple thing.

The years in Lyrabar were not, of course, just about exotic carvings and fine furniture. As is only to be expected, among the Traders were friendships, rivalries, love and hatred. We were fortunate to see none of the latter, at first, but we were firm friends with the Koch family, who traded mostly west to the Vast and also south to Chessenta. The Kochs were more prosperous than we were, having ten ships to our two, and they had made their coin in shipping the less luxurious and more basic items than we did. We each had our niche, and each filled it well, so there was no direct competition between us. The Kochs also had two children of an age with William and me, their daughter Marta was the eldest, and a year older than me, and her brother Ruben was just a few tendays younger than me. I never quite understood, until Marta told me, why my father, after some wine, referred to her father jokingly as "Rapid Fire". Marta and I knew each other from five years on, and among the sniping and competitiveness for respectability that dominated Trader family relations, we remained firmest of friends.

As the years progressed, so did my studies, and I found that Marta was studying many of the same things, and furthermore was also dabbling in magic! She told me that she was learning spells that would charm others to her, which seemed an impossible thing to me at the time, for Marta was the most charming and sweet girl anyone would ever meet. I was always a bit envious of her long blonde hair which came almost to her waist, but never in a nasty way as we were such close friends that it seemed impossible for any rancour to exist between us. Around the time of her debutante presentation at the annual Traders' Ball, Marta had agreed to teach me some of the magic that she had been learning, and she confided in me that she had used it to catch the eye of a dashing warsword officer called Marcus, who she told me I simply *had* to meet. And meet him I did, not long after they had shared the evenings first dance at the Ball...this may seem odd to many, but among the Trader families, that was but one step removed from betrothal. Marcus was indeed dashing, handsome and full of wit and charm, and Marta hung besottedly on his every word, and I was overjoyed and delighted for my friend.

[Highlander]

The following year passed, and I seemed to see less of Marta as she spent more and more time with Marcus. Each time I saw her however, she seemed more and more radiant and blossoming, and she could hardly contain herself when she told me, in strictest confidence of course, that she and Marcus were to be married just after my own debutante Traders' Ball. The two of them were in a perpetual state of odious adoration, which was beginning to grate a bit on me as all indications and family conversations led me to the inevitable conclusion that my first dance would be with Marta's brother, Ruben. After Marta had been safely absconded by Marcus, her brother became a more frequent visitor to the Town House, and even was invited to Almorel for the weekend! Father and William seemed to think highly of him, and he was indeed a perfect gentleman. This will sound like some petulance on my part, but I could not help but think of Marta and her obvious adoration and compare it most unfavourably with how I viewed Ruben. He was not a dashing soldier, but a slightly podgy man, with a scraggly attempt at a moustache which somehow annoyed me intensely. He was also a Trader, so he was able to spend the best part of three hours describing the design of a new type of packing crate for seaborne transport of goods. He inflicted this on me as we sat on the rocks overlooking the beach at Almorel, a spot which in my mind should have always been associated with a spine tingling first kiss.

My father however, was keen to build a stronger relationship between our two families; the Koch's shipping links to the West and their greater resources would lead to a vastly increased market for our Eastern goods. The clincher of the deal in his eyes would be my betrothal to Ruben; like much of the Nobility, the Traders do not necessarily arrange marriages, they simply suggest them in ways that one does not refuse. And so, at the first dance of my presentational Traders' Ball, I gently waltzed in Ruben's clammy grip, thinking deep down of myself in the same light as the dockside whore earning someone else's coin.

After the Ball, the two families descended on our Town House, all decked out with the finest Kara Turan decorations and laid with buffets of spicy Eastern delicacies, all designed to tempt the Kochs into a more formal arrangement. The evening passed in a whirl of introductions, and polite conversations, and with the almost constant hovering presence of Ruben. Eventually, as all such evenings do, the festivities faded and everyone drifted off to bed, Ruben being among the first to depart, his tubby face florid with wine. The others all departed too, and the last to go was Marta, who seemed unsure at first what to say, as if sensing that I was not feeling the same way as she had a year previously. She tried to reassure me of her brother's good character, and while I had no reason to doubt this, it somehow did not seem enough. I eventually bid her goodnight with a warm hug, and I settled sleepily on the sofa by the fading drawing room fire with the remains of some wine, and just the fire and my thoughts for company.

That was until I heard the door open, and I must have half started myself awake as I jumped a bit and spilled a few drops of wine on my dress. I was surprised to see Marcus walk in, and he seemed equally surprised and profusely apologised for disturbing me. He said he was unable to sleep, and he stood in front of the remnants of the fire making small talk. There then followed one of the big steps on my journey. To this day I am not sure what came over me, but I knew I had learned one of the charm enchantments that Marta had showed me, and in an instant I had cast it on him. One thing quickly led to another on the sofa, and it was not until the charm wore off, and we both saw Marta staring open mouthed at the drawing room door, that it was obvious that circumstances were about to irreversibly change.

[Highlander]

The most immediate effect was the cancellation of Marus and Marta's upcoming wedding, with the disgraced and abashed warsword being sent packing from the house the following morning, followed closely by the incandescent Kochs. Marta would not even look at me, and there was no question now of any cordial agreement between our two families. In the years that followed, I did not see her, nor did she ever reply to my letters. The sordid little business was the talk of the Traders for a while of course, and as with all such matters it was soon enough replaced with something else as the topic of gossip. The damage had been done by then however, and in the years after, I became something of a recluse, spending most of my time working on the arcane texts that I was slowly acquiring. I felt guilty of course, and losing Marta's friendship was a terrible blow, but part of me also thrilled in how I had turned Marcus' mind, and it was that thrill that kept me going through the lonely days, and kept my focus on the studies at hand.

My father seemed happy enough not to see much of me, and William was sent abroad often on trading matters. Father worked even harder than before also, and I left him and William to deal with the business, which seemed to proceed much as it had before, quite comfortable without any partnership or financial support from the likes of the Kochs. The business was, however, soon to be taken over by events further east, and we found ourselves at the mercy of the terrifying ambition of Yamun Kahan and the Tuigan. Our trade along the Golden Way ground to abrupt halt with the onslaught of the Horde, and it emerged later that we had lost a considerable trade shipment, plundered and stolen by the rampaging savages. It transpired further that after their breach of the Dragonwall, the Tuigan had sacked and massacred the city of Yenching; this news somehow upset me terribly, as it seemed certain that the fine craftmanship of Xin Jiao was lost, a wonderful artistry trampled under the hooves of some illiterate barbarian.

The trade suffered, but on the face of it the family continued as normal. William had managed to escape from the east ahead of the Horde, and a short while after the defeat of the Tuigan at Phsant, I embraced him on the dock at Lyrabar as he set sail on our ship Aurora, intended as he had said, to be the rebirth of our fortunes in the east now that the war was over. It was the last time I saw him, as some tendays later the news filtered back that the Aurora had been lost to pirates, the cargo taken and all but a handful of her crew slain, William included. Following this tragedy, which had left me reeling with shock, there came the final blow to our fortunes. I had paid no attention to the business affairs of the family, and so it came as an equal shock to find that the war had cost us badly enough that father had been forced to borrow heavily to finance the Aurora. Further, he had borrowed against our properties, and within a few days of the ship's loss I returned home to find Ruben Koch sitting smugly at my beautiful oak desk, and presenting us with the paperwork that would evict us from the house, and hand it over to him and his equally smug and podgy wife. It did not take long of course for me to be reminded of the reasons why the Kochs were not our trade partners, and with that bitter note, father withdrew himself to a small apartment in Lyrabar that he had kept out of the loan agreement. He sits there still, with most of the contents of his wine cellar, and he is making good progress in dismantling that also. As for me, I managed to grab some books and trinkets from the desk before Ruben's men had me thrown onto the street, and it is from there that I left Lyrabar, and began my travels.

[Highlander]

It has taken all this time of study and nights of pouring over scrolls in the library of Songhall for some ideas to finally begin to make sense. For the same effort, my working of the weave seems to last longer, and my spell book grows steadily more complete. This is encouraging, to finally see some reward for the work, and to also have a few coins to spare for the first time in...too long. I should perhaps have saved them for inks and scrolls, but spending some of them is Annelliese's has made me feel more positive and encouraged than any collection of crystals. There is time enough for them. Some things do not change however, and the Ilmateri priestess seems uniquely capable of annoying me with her words whenever more than a few minutes are spent in her company. Her sucess in annoying me is perhaps at least in part because she suceeds in striking a nerve. I do not think any witnessed my act of subterfuge, but I am sure that had she knowledge of what is now in my possession she would indeed regard my persona as "rotten". Such knowledge can be a dangerous thing in a land such as this, and it worries me a bit that the foreigner Fenneken can wield similar magic and yet she claims not to have studied it at all. The placing of fearful thoughts in the will of another is something that begins to skirt on the borders of what would be regarded as dark magic by many in Impilitur. A good enough reason for me to keep the scrolls from view, in the company of as many devout Triadists as I was. I will work in private on their content, it will take some time as what they describe is not simple, but learning from them will progress me further, and that, ultimately, is what matters.

[Highlander]

It is becoming apparent that life as it is now requires a certain amount of adjustment and adaptation. The role I have currently taken upon myself as an arcane accompaniment to various wandering adventurers leaves little enough room for the indulging of the whims of the life I have left behind. even a superficial level, I began to find the impracticlaities of robes or dresses to be too incovenient when having to climb into caves or negotiate mountain tracks or forest trails, and so I have acquired what seems to be a more practical outfit for such activities. The other advantage to dressing a a common traveller is of course that it detracts from any foes that I have any arcane knowledge. I have a good set of robes for wandering around Songhall, but I have seen from the actions of my companions that any enemy spellcaster once identified is the first to be targetted. One has to assume that such sense is also used by even the low cunning creatures that we have had occasion to fight, and so not to reveal myself as a potential target of value until I have struck first does appear to have some merit. It is an idea I shall explore more as I learn.

I am pleased with the continuing progression of scrolls that I have managed to acquire, and while I have some that are beyond my ability to learn and cast for now, I know that I am slowly unravelling their contents. I have taken efforts to cultivate the contacts who will know to keep such items aside for me if I am not present at their finding, and it is a relief to now have the silver to make the efforts of others worth their while, as well as to be able to provide other wizards with copies of spells should thy wish. Some cultivation of relationships has inevitably passed beyond the purely business and I appear, in spite of our differences, to be forming a friendship with Fenneken, and on the other hand I seem to have once again effortlessly come to disagree with Kelda. It is an intersting question however that emerged in that cave, namely is it better to offer assistance to the best protected to make them almost invulnerable, or to bolster the weakest so that they can keep up. My own feeling is that excellence should be promoted and encouraged, and that those with inferior equipment need to work harder to improve it. With my help, Jerek for example could be the rock around which the others rally and against which the enemy breaks. I can however see Kelda's point, not that I shall admit that to her, but it also seems that the logical extention of that is for someone to enhance my own rather feeble strength so that I can strike a blow with my staff instead of offering the same enhancement to the likes of Ornak and watch him destroy everything that moves. I shall talk with the swordmen at some point, and see what approach they would prefer. It seems that one of my first conversations may be with Jerek, as he has offered to share a bottle of Glowfire. I rather hope it will be in Sarshel and not Vlasta, but I think I would almost enjoy such an occasion even in Midrikaul. Almost.

[Highlander]

I should not perhaps be surprised at the rapidity of change that can overtake one's circumstances, given my rapid fall from grace into social pariah in Lyrabar all those moons ago. The return from Vlasta to something resembling civilisation was a welcome one, at least for me, and it has given me a chance to consolidate the friendships forged in the wilds in more congenial circumstances. Of all the discoveries and adventures in and around Vlasta, the one that will continue to resonate the most is Fenneken's efforts in the graveyard. It was much to ask of her, and yet it gave a glimpse of hope that there are other ways than just the mundane of tracking down my brother's killers. The world that sits between the living and the dead is a murky and dangerous one however, as the events in the Dockyard house were to show all too clearly. I was more shaken by that encounter than perhaps I would care to admit, a hostile manifestation of previously theoretical concepts in that ancient black tome. The old dwarf showed himself to be far calmer under the circumstance than me, perhaps his long years have granted him bitter experience of such things and I can look forward to similar clarity of thought when I am similarly wrinkled and decrepit. The mundane means of gathering information will not be ignored however, as my abilities to render helpless the sentinet foe have improved considerably since Vlasta. I should remind Unger of the possibility of an inquisatorial conversation with a goblin, as ever I should practice in circumstances I care little about before the time comes for me to act, and for now at least, I have that time.

[Highlander]

The last few moons have been rather an endless seeming repetition of tomes, scrolls, inks and waking slumped over the work I had fallen asleep over the previous small hours. Songhall proved a productive enough place to make some progress though, and I feel I am close to making some breakthrough in knowledge. The world, of course, continued to turn during my isolated study, and while Fenneken took a trip away to Damara and has now returned, it appears that Noal has vanished. I have the misfortune of knowing more than most about his apparent destination, and so I felt no hesitation about taking up Perry's offer of tenancy in his premises, replacing Noal in the room upstairs. It is comfortable enough, and its location could serve me well; I am sure there are a few who will not be missed from the backstreets of Sarshel once I have the knowledge to progress.

[Highlander]

It has been another long period of study, but one that has finally borne fruit, with the unlocking in my mind of some more potent arcane manipulations. Other than a fruitless trip to Vlasta, I have scarcely stepped outside since Jerek and Kelda's wedding, a sign of how easy it is to lose myself in the piles of tomes, and a reminder that the wizard's reputation for bookish reclusiveness is not entirely undeserved. The satisfaction at arcane progress however, is dimmed rather this time by the costs of this seclusion and study. Not the financial costs, but rather the impact on the part of me that still recalls the world of gleaming ballrooms and handsome suitors; the challenges of the pursuit of the arcane as a means to my ambition feel acute today. I had known for some time of course that Nathaniel would depart, but I had no inkling that it would be as soon as it was. I had not seen him since the trip to Vlasta, and the news of his imminent departure hit me harder than I would have thought. In the sober reflection of the following tenday, I am still surprised at the depth of anguish his departure cased me, and the knowledge that my studies kept me shut away and denied me the chance to spend some time in his company is the first time I have really felt any conflict over my path. He could, of course, have given us rather more notice, and that hurts perhaps even more than the fact of his departure. I am perhaps fooling myself though, for there was little sign that he saw me as anything other than a friend - which is not to be dismissed of course, but I have to acknowledge the fact too that when he did not show up to Jerek and Kelda's wedding, I had no qualms about leaving on the arm of the nearest Sunite. Still, whatever may have been, he is gone, and even if there was vague talk of his path taking him along the Golden Way when mine heads that way, I shall not hold too firm to that; too much water needs to go under too many bridges before that day. So I turn once more to what lurks behind my every action, and the hope that some other has not sunk the Blackraven Pirates before I am able to spend some time with their Captain. The attack I participated in some time ago on a ship moored along the coast brought the thought of them back to the front of my mind; the ship belonged to others, and there was no sign of any of my family's items on board, and regretfully none were taken alive. There shall be other ships, and other chances to work on what needs to be done. I have no doubt however that the development of my arcane abilities is now sufficient for me to put plans into place a bit more seriously. Enjoy the seas, Blackraven, your eternity shall be less pleasant.

[Highlander]

And so it is, that amidst the ruins of Sarshel, that the plans and ambitions I had hang by a thread. Not dashed, as the many lives were, and not hung by a thread of any other making than the doubts in my own mind. The plans have in many ways not changed, and I know that Blackraven will fall to my hand, or at least by my instigation. I do not wish to be cheated of being the last mortal he sees, but after the scenes in the Temple, can I really damn him to...whatever fate? It is said, do not ask me where I heard this, some answers are best left unsaid, that the great Lords of the lower planes have entire castles constructed with bricks containing the souls of the damned, and those souls remain trapped in those bricks, aware of their fate for all eternity. The thought of Blackraven as a brick has, I shall admit sustained me through many dark nights, but it is clear that such an act would be to go irredeemably against the morals of many of those I count as friends. Would they ever understand, or forgive, such an act? Would I be hung or burned as a witch for it? Do they ever need to know? No. Yes. No. That is not today's question, however. Today, and the days to come, are focussed on the likely cause of the devastation. Somewhere in the rambling scribbles of that irate tome in the desk may lie the secrets to unlock the cause, and from there lead to a clue to the banishment of the creature. Among all this, Perry's house has become something of an arcane workshop, and I am grateful to him for his accomodations. Somewhere also, there is a half written letter to the west, a long and flowing description of the party at Artemis' house which I knew the missing bard would wish to know. The letter is on my desk still, buried under other scrolls and tomes of more immediate concern, never finished once the events at the Temple took over. To finish the letter with such a jarring of tone seems wrong, but so does discarding it as if the happy evening before the chaos and darkness is somehow to be forgotten. Many choices lie ahead, and there is time to make them. Not all of Blackraven's torment needs to be in the next life, after all.