The ledgers do reveal his initials as C. J..

Some further entries you can decipher...

Thunderclaps to the north but there's no rain. Refugees are passing through from the north and east saying the baronies are falling to an onslaught of humanoids and monsters! I'm sure they're gleaning our fields. They may as well if there's no one left to sell wine to!

---

I heard screaming in the sky. I looked up in the dying light of dusk to some winged creature carrying a poor woman like a falcon with a fresh fish! I don't care if the cart belongs to the management, I'm driving south to Masondain at dawn and taking the first boat off the Continent!

---

GOBLINS. They attacked before dawn. They took the horses. Luckily I knew about the secret storage beneath. I took the candles above. I need to work fast. One door is locked. The Southern door is forbidden but what choice do I have?

---

Eastern passage is haunted! The west passage is even worse! This winery was built on THAT the whole time? I'm never drinking wine again!

---

On my last candle. Rats are getting closer. Threw them my last bit of food as an offering. I think it just made them hungrier. Finishing my last bottle before the flame goes out. I remember my mother's bedtime prayers.

Let there be - there will always be - Neverending Light!

Manaku begins chopping around the lock of the heavy oaken door. The sound echoes down the hallway. This could take a while...

"What a way to die. My choice is to collapse on the open road, having dragged myself the final league. I wonder what worse than haunted might mean? Perhaps we ought to explore a bit more down here while we're waiting for the fires to burn themselves out..."

Regdoc gave the goblin a sneer after reading of the attack, but said nothing.

"The forbidden passage is this way elf!" He called to Manaku. "Unless you think you can get through..."

“Hrmp! Sounds like ramblings of a mad man, really. Which he probably became once he was trapped in here, all alone. Poor fellow indeed. If what he wrote is true, this isn’t a ordinary wine cellar for sure. Alright, lets move on. We should watch the corridor. The elf is making lots of noise.”

The wizard moves on the doorway and peeks towards south where corridor continues past the doors into darkness and gulps down rest of the wine he had taken earlier.

Down past the initial range of your lantern's glow is a stout iron door with a patina of rust, but still strong. The wooden frame around it, however, has rotted, so it barely stays on its hinges. The lock is still intact, but it's no longer connected to the frame, so the whole door can be swung open with some effort.

Manaku begins chopping around the lock of the heavy oaken door. The sound echoes down the hallway. This could take a while...

"There's no harm in it, we've the time," Brodd says.  He agrees with Sasar, the rest should guard in case the 'haunted' part of the passage came for them.

"I'm already haunted. I'm not worried. In fact, I'm curious as to what he discovered down here."

Manaku is keeping axing the door, trying to use more force

"This door won't stop me!"

12:56, Today: Manaku rolled 2 using 1d6.  Keeping axing the door.

Eron looks over Manaku's handiwork.  "I don't suppose that's the forbidden door, is it?  By the way, is this the west corridor?  I've lost my way a bit."  **hic**

The old Seeker was beginning to have some suspicions about the pixie... How is it possible for a wee one such as this to drink more than his own volume in wine? And not just once, but apparently man times over? And how is it not dead from the effort instead of just a little turned around with its directions? Bah!

Glancing at Chomper's lifted ears, he suddenly realized he'd been saying this quietly instead of just thinking it.

Pulling out his flail, Regdoc grunted. "Pick a path Brodd and let's get going. That fire up there won't burn forever, and when it's out this place will be crawling with goblins looking for some new warren to infest. In fact, let's see if we can't bring this all down behind us as we go out..."

Yagi spits.

"You say dat like a bad ting, path-talker!"

The eastern door suddenly clicks, and the door opens wide, with Iffy standing behind it, lockpicks in hand.

"Can you believe on top of all that there was a trapdoor by the fireplace?"

Regdoc blinked.

"Thought you took the silverware and called it a career. You surprise me Iffy. May He Whose Path Goes Ever Onward help you in your journey..."

He seemed sincere. "Glad you're here... now get back to your job." But he said it with softened eyes.

She doesn't seem to register his sincerity, but then her body language has always been...off.

"My current job I guess is to figure out how this machine works! Come look!"

She points to something in the room that looks like a wine press framed over a table with square metal pieces under it.

"I think instead of pressing grapes this thing presses...words? On paper? And this other press over here squishes the pages together between the covers, I think."

She points to the cobwebbed shelves lining the room, empty save for a few books.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 18:00, Fri 30 Nov 2018.

Amalrik drew his sword when the door swung open, but quickly sheathed it when he saw it was their resident convict.



Amalrik scoffs.

"Pressing words! Do they drink the ink like wine? This makes no sense to me!"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:16, Fri 30 Nov 2018.

The eastern door suddenly clicks, and the door opens wide, with Iffy standing behind it, lockpicks in hand.

"Can you believe on top of all that there was a trapdoor by the fireplace?"

"Well done," Brodd says.  He'd of course seriously doubted the scoundrel had stuck around and was very glad to have been proved wrong.  Now they could continue the young woman's path to redemption, as important as any of the god's works they were doing on this mission.

He peers past her.  "What is in there ...?"

She points to something in the room that looks like a wine press framed over a table with square metal pieces under it.

Brodd examines in closely.  Perhaps Sasar knew what the machine was for, otherwise Iffy's guess was the best.  A book-making machine of some kind.  "Metallic scribe?" he mutters, wondering if that would catch on.

cobwebbed shelves lining the room, empty save for a few books.

Careful to avoid the cobweb-makers, Brodd gingerly takes one of the books, wipes it gently, and takes a look.  He repeats this cautious process with the rest, knowing that being to rough could make a poorly-bound tome fall apart.

Actions
Enter eastern room
Carefully inspect books

The first book: Discussions on the Theory of Spontaneous Generation Vol. I
An introduction to the idea that in dark unvisited places, animals and monsters for undiscerened reasons will simply come into being. Letters pro and con. Descends rather quickly into personal attacks. Plans for Vol. II cancelled.

The second one: Principles of Stagecraft
This one is full of stage diagrams and illustrations for mimicking effects that could be easily done by magic, but at a fraction of the cost.

The third book: A Nomenclature of Polearms
An exhaustive treatise on  putting different kinds of blades on sticks and what to call them. Nice illustrations though.

The fourth book: Abradoc is a collection of wine labels created by the Abradoc winery over its fine 87-year history. Also describes how they built the winery on the site of a castle destroyed the century before. Also includes an order from the then-Baron of Braunstein that the vegetation must be carefully attended so "that which is interred never reawakens." enforceable by life imprisonment or death.

Creston encourages Brodd to read the passages about the castle and the weeds in its entirety, out loud, to everybody.

Brodd dutifully paraphrases:


...they built the winery on the site of a castle destroyed the century before. Also includes an order from the then-Baron of Braunstein that the vegetation must be carefully attended so "that which is interred never reawakens." enforceable by life imprisonment or death.

The young priest supposes that neither a harvest left to rot on the vine nor burned to cinders qualified as 'carefully attended'.  "We'd better prepare ourselves for an awakening."

"Exactly what I was thinking, though a more thorough examination of the text may give a hint as to what is coming. Are we about to be attacked by the plants, or by a ghost who is offended that we haven't cut the weeds?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Sun 02 Dec 2018.

Yagi clutches Mista Wong and stares into it's face(?), "Hear that Mistah Wong?, dem tall-legs think they be more spirits here. You could use the company!"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:00, Sun 02 Dec 2018.

Creston looks around the room. "Who is Mr. Wong?"

In reply to Creston Fairwood (msg # 93):

The garishly dressed goblin holds the stick topped with a human skull and decorated in rags and beads up to Creston, "You not have proper intro-duktion, Mistah Wong meet hooman, hooman meet Mistah Wong, see!...proper intro-duktion."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 14:30, Sun 02 Dec 2018.

"It's called a fetish," Brodd explains, with some distaste.  They would continue to tolerate the goblin just for so long, and then things were going to come to a violent head.

In truth, the young priest hopes they might get along a bit longer, there was no telling what was down here and they'd need every ally in order to survive something truly bad.

One of the tenets of faith for those who would follow the Footfalls of the Wandering One, was that of taking in the sights, events, and points of interest along their path. This could certainly qualify for all three... and then some.

"It may be that our advantage is not yet lost. If we act quickly, perhaps we can... encourage... whatever this scourge is, to return to its slumber. Or end it before it's fully awake."

Chomper sat ready with the old cleric at his side. The dog looked ready to proceed deeper. Regdoc's posture was much the same.