For many, the Crag Foothills are merely a dangerous, death laden maze of twists and turns that if properly navigated lead into the more lucrative Crag Mines where ore can be harvested for both fun and profit. However, the Foothills may have served a darker and more sinister purpose. Taking a break from their Forest Cave excursions and all the eight-legged horrors it contains, I met up with Alley and Oba Evesor, a Grand Master in several Fire Skills, who has agreed to take me on as an apprentice, as they collected missing pages from a scientific journal. At least, I think it was a scientific journal. Those usually don’t end with the phrase, “that’ll be last time they laugh at me.” Although I’m not entirely sure Oba was part of the hunt as he was poised high atop a cliff giving a taste of his flaming balls to the Mages below.
Alley had already located a few scraps of paper by the time I arrived, so we set about to explore the area more thoroughly. This proved difficult as we had to continually scorch the ground to rid the land of Bandits, Mage, Wolves, Bears and Skeletons. It appears Oba’s balls were not as powerful as I previously thought.
The notes had scattered themselves on the wind and were discovered on wooden platforms, within the crevices of fence posts and discarded inside the craggy openings in rocks. While we only discovered a smattering of lost pages, by the numbers in the heading, there is a much larger volume on the loose.
As I read over the pages revealing necromantic experiments, I felt a cold chill whip over me and this time it wasn’t because I had a stress fracture in my leggings. The writer of said journal was doing his best to raise the dead and build an army. What he plans to do with said army is a mystery, but I’m sure this goes far beyond settling some sort of tavern dispute or seeking revenge for a lost love interest.
The anonymous writer complains that the thugs are interfering with his work and that his subjects are escaping. Seems he will get revenge and the thugs will become part of his subject pool. He further explains his subjects always go northeast and the citizens of Ecteter will pay for what they’ve done.
Normally I’m of the opinion, that if you consort with seedy types like thugs and bandits and spend your time cavorting with the undead, you sort of get what you deserve. Sure, you may get some short term monetary gains, but eventually, someone is going to come along brandishing a beating stick and has designs of setting your evil doing carcass on fire, dousing the flames in an extremely unsavory and undignified way using the remnants of last night’s ale and dancing on the ashes.
But what is all this business about Etceter? What plague of nightmares is going to be unleashed on those poor people? How could the entire town of Ecteter have done him wrong?This all looks quite distressing. Since the purveyor of such misdealings never identified himself how are we to know what we’re looking for? I suppose we could wait it out until we see the marching undead head that way and then chat with the bandleader, but that might not leave enough time to save the town through heroic deeds. And you can’t just go running into town yelling, “The undead are coming! The undead are coming!” They’ve heard that drivel before. It seems we are going to need a more solid plan. This might be a good time to chat up the mage I met in Jaanaford and see if she can help me conjure up an earth elemental.
More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia
- What is Experience Worth?
- Getting my quest journal started in OneNote
- Behold the Power and Might of the Fire Chicken!
- To ease my burden I helped Kelly, found Halmar and enriched my purse with the help of Lord Enmar
- Welcome to Release 16 of Shroud of the Avatar. New places, new faces, new quests
- Thug Shanty Town
- On Becoming a Grand Master in Bladed Combat
- What manner of strange chamber of slumbers is this out in North Brightbone Woods?
- Tools on Sale to help Journal your adventures in New Britannia and Shroud of the Avatar
- Fleecing the Obsidian Robe