As per my stunted discussion earlier today, I'm setting up this additional thread for the party to use as a forum for their characters. It is a wholly in-character, in-game thread, so no ooc discussions of last week's football game or how to share a .pdf file should be posted here! :P
   I expect that this will become a place for inner thoughts, musings, and personal journal logs that your character may want to keep, or show the other players, or just write out yourself on some boring afternoon. Again, remember they are in-character, so write as your adventuring self's personality with regards to point of view, relations, and feelings. Don't put up something about what a smelly, dirty little barbarian Eirik is unless your character has had the opportunity to actually stand beside him and take a whiff. Lol.
   I anticipate that there will be some crossovers, and probably even alot of duplication from the main thread to here. People will write out something IC that they see or think, and then transfer it over here for future reference or because it struck them as being insightful or important. On a limited scale, I might copy/paste something that one of you wrote IC just to have it available for reading up on myself. :)

   XP will be awarded on some scale or another for posting here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:36, Sun 10 June 2007.

OOC: Here’s my first entry to the journal (somebody has to be first, right?!) It’s a recollection of my character’s initiation in the Wychlaran. I hope you like it;)

She knelt before the old woman, feeling her voice enveloping her like a dream. In the spiced smoke of the bonfire behind them, the air in the small wooden hut was hazy and heavy. She could feel her lungs fill with the flavored smoke, the tinge of mint, the flavor of nettle... The crone sang in a deep voice, the syllables of the melodic song echoing from the wooden walls. It almost sounded (and looked) like they were physically present in the smoke, weaving the lines of melody through the air. The words sounded heavy, guttural and most of all sacred. Her weak and old body swung in the rhythm, and the younger woman started losing herself in her movement and her voice. The warmness of the place slowly trickled from her body, and she could feel coldness beneath the sweat which covered her body. As she stared at the crone’s mask, the geometrical ornaments painted on it started moving and sliding over each other…

Navarra’s eyelids closed once, and then opened…and again. She blinked once more, then the old woman’s voice stopped enveloping her being…and darkness came.
The last words she heard were woven into the song, but surprisingly recognizable as everyday Common in the stream of the incomprehensible babble. ”…you are now one of us, Navarra. One of the Wychlaran…” The words trailed off, and Navarra lost herself in the sweet forgetfulness of insensibility.

Ah he had returned at last. He was garnted the splendor of the Vally of Eternal Spring. It sure had been a long while since last time. Then he had been in the company of his teacher. That was the last journey they had together befor he had to flee from a Wychlaran. How strongle he had angered her. He had not shown any respect and refused to do anything she asked him to. He kenw that he could face death ones more seen as he ahd angered the Witch he was taraveing with now. For many years I have been traveling the norther parts of this land. Much I have seen and much is still to be done.

And what she had said about him not knowing anything about the red wizards of Thay. He knew what they had did to his grandfather and many of his ancestors trough the time. I'm greatful for not having to experiance that place. He had seen his grandfathers scars after many hours of tortur and abuse. Well who really know what the spirits are thinking. Well better to keep thinking about them as I'm now. Why change what is true from where I'm sitting.

Well maybe I should try and get better along with this one. After all why should i be driven from any place anymore. The witches ahd power yes, but they could not always get me. I got powerful allies indeed and they will always watch over me, always.

So the witch tells me I should keep some kind of journal. What in the hells? I can't even read, let alone write. Yeah, I think there's a difference. Haven't seen much use for it yet. I don't think I've ever had time for a book, except to bop some wizard over the head with it.

Yeah yeah, the journal. Maybe I should keep it in my head or something, until I forget about it. Something about getting my thoughts in order. Maybe she thought I didn't have any?

Navarra. Witch is a good name for her, I think. Smug, bossy, clever, spell-hurling witch. I always feel like she's laughing at me, behind that mask. Perhaps she is. But I think I like it. Wierd. It's like she doesn't need me guarding her, but whenever something happens, there I am. Maybe she placed a spell on me? I should play another trick on her to be sure... eh. I wonder what she looks like underneath that mask?

The others, eh, I don't think I know them very well. They seem to be just people to work with, fellow mercenaries and sellswords in other lands. Don't really know who they are or where they come from or where they're going. But then, I still don't know much about Navarra either. Relgar: I respect his combat skill, he outdid me with those zombies. I must make up for that. Graros: something about dragons? I dunno, dragons are for slaying and stealing their gold. Meh. Vicril: druid, nature-this nature-that. Meh.

I didn't get that argument. Spirits is spirits, watch out for them or kill 'em when you can't. What more is there? But he argued with Navarra, so I don't think I like him much just for the sake of it.

The rock creature. Now that was cool. Thomil or something? But "no man may move a mountain blah blah blah"? I don't see too many mountains getting up and moving around either. Okay, small rock creatures maybe. But people dig through them, ice cracks boulders, glaciers push 'em around, water wears them away.

And complaining about mankind harming nature? I never got that druidy thing. People are just another type of animal, I reckon. We just wear other animals for coats and hit things with bigger sticks. Give a monkey magic and stuff, it'll fill the world with bananas, same as any other.

"Can I stop now?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:58, Thu 14 Dec 2006.

The Valley of Eternall Spring, quite fitting name to this harmonous place. Altough the spirits creep me out often but I sense they ar enot the traditional drooling ghouls like most of them are.

Also I have noticed my trusty magicall scimitar (which was gived as gift from wychlaran from doing great service to him getting rid bunch of gnolls) had changed since ice spirit demon touch. It feels constantly cold to touch and it mildly radiates trough into my skin trough clothes and scabbard even! But I sense power whitting it, ready to be released by my will but I do not plan to test and see what happens until I think I need it.

Hmmm, my companions ar eintresting lot. Navarra is quite backing for witch, if any other village Eirik or Vicril would have behaved like they do they had been already both spanked by whip of the witch literally or verbally. I myself like her, she was worried about me when I released the ice spirit demon but same turn exploded onto me doing it but Vicril then calmed her.

Eirik, well he is simple man and appears bit off to palce but I see rashemi still on him. He just needs recalled the good things of rashemi. Should I make him drunk whit my precious stored Jhuild? It could be intresting, but partying later when we are doned whit our presently puzzling quest.

Graros, he have not much talked in recently but he appears confident altough I do nto understand what bloody he is talking about dragons and their spirits. Vicril other hand I understand because I have been whit drudis but he is far too strictly neutral for my tastes. I would wish he could be like ol'Bolvar, he hobbies himself teasing village women in sitting in perch shapeshifted as bird while women bathed and then speaked aloud appreciations or flaws in their body build and of couse making excelent Jhuild whit wild berries mixed into it.

He talked spirits also but he always talked about that Rashemi belonged to rashemi spirits and it's people, and he was the one who helped me attune into my homeland and become it's fearless defender while guided by wise and kind Mielikki's teachings.

Anycase better quit now, Vicril seems to be ready to talk about something...wait! Did Navarra remove her mask? Hard to tell in this mist but it appeared mask is in her hand? I wonder what she looks like? Many common folk say witch wear mask either reason; Becuase they are abyssal ugly and want spare men from looking into them or so enchanting beautyfull that the men would not listen them while they talked or gived orders while men stared them. The secrecy is just bonus methinks.

Ah, finally a few hours away from the druid...he is unbelievable! As if I am not a representative of the Wychlaran, he acts like I'm a mere conjurer of cheap tricks who sells wisdom on village fairs. Not many people I've met in my life have had such...individualistic viewpoints. One would expect my strife with him coming from our radically different beliefs, but it is the things that bond us that bring trouble.

Bhalla helped me then...I was a moment short of starting slinging spells at the man. But, when I think of it now, it seems as if this had to happen. One must know how to offer flattery with words, and create compromises which will benefit all. Yes, the gods have put this man with a reason in front of him. I will find a great enemy in him if we continue to fight, but imagine the possibilities if we were allied?

I only pray to the Grain Lady to grant me strength to control myself...his provocations bite deep into the fortified shell my mask and service create. Finally, I can relate to Eirik's outbursts of anger...indeed your emotions can get the upper hand if you give them the slightest chance for it.

Navarra, Ethran of the Wychlaran, servant of Rashemen

   Forgotten but not departed, the ancient thomil lurked just beneath the surface of the earth, *feeling* the departure of the humanoids above him as much as hearing the echoes of their receding footfalls upon the ground. Footfalls that had, until recently, been conspicuously absent in his corner of the Vale.

   Emotionless, tireless, the guardian spirit surged through the stone and dirt that surrounded it, passing unnoticed underneath on of the groups that had splintered from the original party of five he had just encountered. There were three of the talkers and two of the riding beasts in this one, he noted absently. They were heading to the eastern pass, it seemed. This was a place the thomil had not visited in many seasons.

   Though time meant little to the thomil, it recalled several things with clarity in a linear fashion: being summoned here several centuries ago, being bound to a near-perfect mountain which held in its shadow a near-perfect valley; wars with blood-clothed humanoids on the slopes to the south...wars which stretched for weeks and made the ground swell with pain and agony at the magics unleashed; and it remembered the recent emptiness in the spirit-links it had forged with its brothers to the east.

   Yes, perhaps these humanoids were here to help, after all.

So much to learn, so much to protect. They where the same goal. Watch over the land and it would give a little knowledge. Harm the land and the spirits will make life hard for you. I know I have  angered, I know I have given her reasons to feel anger towards me. I know she is by the rules long ago a woman to be respected. The law gives her power, but the power should come from the people and not those who made deals a long time ago. We united and paid a price. It was a bad deal in my eyes.

She sometimes anger me so this Wychlaran as has some befor her as well. I remember being praiced one day for my skills for so be hunted like a monster. A long time it has been since I have traveled with so many at the same time. The last was befor I fleed. Oh I hope I never lay eyes opone the woman I angered so long ago. I wonder what this Wychlaran will do I I do. Will she speak ill of me and seal my tomb or will she speak in my defence. Eirik that fool follows here like a bee after honey. Atleast I know that I have a true friend amongst them. What could I have done without my true allied.

A new day has ended. Little has been revealed and much walking has been done. Graros seems like a good person atleast. He facinate me with his blood. What knowledge the dragon who teached him his skills. What I would not do to speak with someone of that high knowledge of life and the earth. I tremble just by the tought of standing befor his feet. I have heared no news trough the day fro the witch, the fool Eirik and the protector of natur Relgar. I wonder how it goes and what they have learned. They may be hurt or maybe even dead after making a wrong turn. I hope there journey goes well.

Maybe I should have let my friend go with them. Well I need him to. he is a wild beast in heart. It lurks inside like a moster caged for a lifetime. I shall set him free befor the years over. I can not force him to stay. I care for him, but to see him forced to risk so much by walking with me hurts my heart. It cryes for his freedom. He should be a leader of a pack, the alfa male and the greatest hunter of them all. It rips my heart asunder to let him free, but my soul is ripped apart by forcing him to stay.

   Two had come. The summoning always forced, compelled. It never asked.


   The first retired now to its place in the outer planes. Surrounded by friends and family, warriors it had known in life and subjects that had served faithfully until death, the spirit strode purposefully across the vast distances that separated it from its goal.
   In truth, there was no movement, for much like the Astral, this plane granted powers through thought. The more clearly focused the thought, the more powerful the action that could be taken. Some spirits floated without even the ability to move themselves; others, like this one, had a wellspring of power reserves upon which it could draw.
   It reached the intended destination and looked into an oval section of the plane that allowed scrying on other realms. Deep within the scene offered by the swirling, semi-solid mists, a lone figure came into focus, bearing a striking resemblance to Graros Dragonflight.
   This one could bear much fruit...with the right push" thought the spirit, still restless from the journey.


   The second was no less intense in its scrutiny of things before it. Unfortunately, the things before it were flesh and blood, and several were within reach of the great beast.
   It lashed forward with ghostly claws, slashing *through* the terrified minions, leaving behind angry reddish welts on the quivering hides of the victims. Welts which oozed pus and blood, but quickly scabbed over and faded, thanks to the infernal healing powers of the bodies that bore them.
   "We *will* find a way to reverse this!" it screamed at those who chose to cower rather than flee the monster's wrath. "We will find a way to regain substance!" The shouts reverberated throughout the otherwise empty halls of the obsidian castle, in whose high tower they now stood.
   "I will have my revenge upon those, and all, of the witches of Rashemen! And then...then the Thayans will beg me for favors...."

What to make of this. The past days the entire mission has been change. So much change. Surely the gods ways are not known to mortals.  What am I to do. I can not abondon the path that I now walk. To do so would be impossible and would only bring with it Khelliaras wrath. Graros. Yes Graros. How could he abandon him in his time of trouble. The transparent ghostlike Graros. It's a shame I do not know any more about the cursed strom that hit.

The witch felt his gaze pounding at the back of her head. Flower's hoofs rhythmically hammered against the ground, while Snowflake's feathers rustled near her ear as the raven fidgeted. Stretching her wings, the raven suddenly made for the sky. She could feel the uneasiness of her mistress, and Snowflake didn't like it. Navarra's eyes followed her flight as she flown ahead, out of sight. His eyes were still on the back of her head. Now, he looked away. She had a sixth sense, from the time they left the cottage by the Red Tree. For moments, she almost forgot to use her other senses, fumbling over unseen rocks or leaving Vicril's questions unanswered. The thing which bothered her the most wasn't the fact that she felt something for Eirik. The problem was that she felt paralyzed by it. The eyes behind her mask dropped to the ground, looking at her moving feet. She wanted to deal with it, she needed to deal with it! But at the same time, she was waiting for something. Something which wasn't coming.

   The man opened his eyes as if awakening from a deep slumber. Indeed, he didn't even remember falling asleep, and as he rose to stretch and yawn, he realized that he really wasn't tired at all...which merely stood to reason, if he was just now waking up. Dressed in the finery of what he could only assume was nobility, he smiled to himself...this was nice.
   But was he really awake? For some reason his mind was foggy, and he couldn't seem to remember his name, or who he was. Had he been struck on the head? No, the simple fact that he was reasoning and rationalizing his situation meant that he hadn't suffered a blow to the head. Well, that at least was comforting news.

   His surroundings were unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He stood upon a road, with a pale sky - dusk or dawn, he couldn't tell which at the moment - glowing faintly overhead to light his path. In one direction was more of the flat, rocky terrain that seemed to surround him; the other held a slight upslope, and what looked like a structure of some sort.
   Perhaps he was a king, and that was his castle?

   He reached the fortress even before he realized he was walking toward it, and the doors, taller than he by three times, opened at a thought without the need for his pushing hands. Padded slippers fell upon shiny marble floors, making only a whisper of sound as he strode through the castle, peering into room after room of quiet emptiness.
   At last he came to the end of the hallway to find closed gates, beyond which it opened into a great feasting hall. These he *did* have to push aside, and as he did so he cut himself of the metal grating. The sharp pain and sight of his own blood were a dose of reality to the man; this was no dream. As he watched, the cut closed itself, the tissue regenerating rapidly to heal the man's wound.
   This was fascinating! Perhaps he was a god?

   "Come in" said a voice, resonating with the sticky sweetness of playful power. It was the first sound he had heard outside of his own breathing and footsteps, and the man quickly entered, heedless of any danger. After all, he might well be a god. What did he have to fear?
   Within was a banquet, laid out in preparation of what? His return? A man stood there to one side of the great throne-seat at the table's head, preparing to seat the man as he walked around the table and surveyed it all. Rich foods piled high in jewel-encrusted serving bowls. Plates of the most highly polished silver and utensils made from gold. Wines and cheeses from the four corners of the world. All for him.
   As he moved to sit in the chair, however, the man smiled and shook his head. "Oh, no sir. This seat is reserved. Your place is here...as the guest of honor." The butler placed a small step-stool in front of his feet and then walked around to the center of the table, removing the cover from the large platter to reveal the main course - but there was nothing on the platter.

   All around the table, chairs suddenly filled with bodies. Large and small, twisted and humanoid, demons and their kin teleported in to take their places at the banquet table. One very large, very fearsome one sat in the throne-seat at the table's head.
   "You seem surprised, friend!" The demon, and all of his friends laughed a roaring, thoroughly terrifying round of guffaws and chuckles that made the man wince.
   "Who are you, that you dare insult me in my own home?" shot back the retort from the man who had thought he was awake, but who now reasoned he must be dreaming. "Wake me from this dream and begone!"
   "Your home? Dream? My dear friend, don't you know where you are? This is my home, and these are my guests...all friends of yours!" The demon chuckled again, low and sinister. "You, who have summoned us time and again to *your* home. We have now consented to do the same for you."
   As he spoke, the man in fine robes was forcibly picked up from where he stood by the butler and placed roughly on the serving platter. In an instant he was trussed like a roast pig. All around him the demons' eyes lit up as they prepared for the feast.
   "What madness is this? I don't even know who you are! I don't even know who *I* am!" Fear began to creep into his consciousness, and he willed himself to awaken from this dream-turned-nightmare.

   "Then let me explain. This is the eighty-third level of the Abyss. You are the Thayan wizard Shaene, killed in battle by undead minions of one of my servants. These are the demons you have summoned to do your bidding all of your pathetic mortal life." The great demon picked up a knife and fork, stabbing the wizard and cutting off a pice of flesh with excrutiating pain...flesh which regenerated almost instantly.
   "And you shall trouble us no more."