The Journal of Young Mordamir

(Entry 4)

The second day of our journey commenced with Boga's decision to track down the panther. Since navigation might prove challenging without the cat, it wasn't an entirely bad idea. Not easy, either, but perhaps — I pondered — goblins could perceive things that eluded the human eye. Surprisingly, he managed to find the feline’s tracks and follow it for a distance — until Lysindra had one of her episodes: she explained nothing, knelt to the ground, thrust her fingers into the dirt, and started nibbling at the moss. I looked at Boga, willing to share my impatience with the nearest sane person, and was reassured by the fact that even the goblin seemed taken aback by Lysindra’s behavior, grunting a blunt “What?” at her, to which she replied, “Can’t you hear it?”

To my moderate bewilderment, I was able to hear “it” — a whisper above the brush of the wind: Countless voices, ancient mutterings in a forgotten language. The sun’s glare dimmed, as though in response, and the scents of blood and damp earth filled the air once more. In the distance, Boga spotted a pair of pale figures who retreated into the shadows among the trees. However — and how should I put it? — the manifestation we witnessed was not that of a pair of stealthy observers, but rather the forest itself! It had taken me a while to register it, but the forest did emanate a vague yet noticeable supernatural presence. This presence was more pronounced when certain elements of it came near — possibly its roaming denizens, which — instead of conveying individual arcane signatures, amplified that of the whole: a vast, magic superorganism(?) — or so I’d posit, further investigation pending. 

So, it’s no wonder that we had been feeling as though we were being surveilled: If I was correct, then we were not unlike tiny ants crawling over a giant’s hairy arm, whose owner regarded us with mild curiosity and was yet undecided as to whether he should squish us, flick us away or set us down to safety on some inanimate surface. Such thought was as disturbing as it was unhelpful, so I brushed it away for the time being.

As for the voices, Boga simply shrugged. “I’ve heard them before,” he said, “when I came into the forest with my old group. They’re dead now.” After a short pause to recover from the casual delivery of this information, I hastened to inquire about the nature of this previous incursion and, more importantly, what course of action led his companions to their untimely deaths. Our goblin companion, however, elaborated no further than “We are not to underestimate the forest.” Very useful, Boga. Thank you.

I thus turned to Leslie, who’d already proven more willing to share her insights on the mysteries of Davokar. Casting all caution and formality to the winds, I directly asked her whether the forest was a magical entity in the eyes of her clan. Her answer (probably more evasive than she intended) was that, to the Odaiova, everything was magic. As far as the forest was concerned, it was the issue of overstepping certain boundaries that worried her. Perhaps the pale figures we had spotted earlier — “elves”, according to Boga — were the keepers of such boundaries. In any case, Edogai made sure to demand that Boga should let us know when we were putting ourselves in danger — no doubt under the assumption that, since he was the sole survivor of his previous expedition, he must have learned something valuable. Well. Who could argue with that logic?

Our pursuit of Maria Alice (the panther), led by our goblin tracker, sent us northwards, veering slightly to the east. I was tempted to argue that this was evidence that the animal was never compelled to simply “go north” in the first place, but it must have been attracted to something (or someplace) which merely happened to be, more or less, to the north of us. The group, however, seemed to have been contaminated by Lysindra’s apprehension, and probably would have paid little mind to an insight of admittedly no immediate utility. More importantly, we entered a region peppered with the crumbling vestiges of an ancient settlement.

Time-worn monoliths leaned against centennial trees, some of which seemed to embrace tilted works of masonry that defied the principles of architecture and geometry. Amidst the collapsed remains of this ancient village (city? kingdom?), we located a larger structure, roofless yet still imposing, palace-like. Still, absolutely nothing in these buildings bore the slightest hint of anything familiar. Moreover, as we advanced, the vague (and, by then, familiar) sensation of standing under the watch of a supernatural presence changed. There was something else in it now, something… malign.

I cannot deny that I felt it, the malignance. Lysindra urged us to move on, and Boga warned us that the place stank of corruption. I, however… was annoyed. At the loss of the panther; at the inexplicable behavior of our guide — superior and patronizing, on one hand; cowardly and superstitious, on the other. I was frustrated because Boga and Leslie wouldn’t (or couldn’t) give me straight answers. I was angry because Vernam was dead, and I was alone to carry on the legacy of our work. So, I put my foot down and pressed on stubbornly, marching towards a stone pillar covered in inscriptions. Edogai and Leslie followed, not far behind. I had the irrational hope that those writings would give me answers. Lelya, too, walked by my side, sharing both my curiosity and an urgency to untangle this mess of mysteries. Then, it happened.

The pillar stood, tilted at an angle, within a stone pavement covered in dark brownish vines. If I had not been so brash and reckless, I would have noticed that these vines were corrupted, and that a sort of iridescent oil — condensed from pure, coagulated corruption — flowed and gathered next to the pillar, taking the form of a bloated, crowned monstrosity that had no eyes and yet seemed to gaze at us with loathing. By the time I understood the peril I had led us into, it was too late. I somehow — miraculously — managed to throw myself out of harm’s way, but the vines whipped forward, bursting the creature and splashing its oil over my companions.

Under normal circumstances, I would be loath to elaborate on the physical agonies suffered by those who succumb to corruption. However, I make an exception here as a means to force myself to examine the outcome of my actions: Edogai and Lelya took the brunt of it, and immediately their skin began to boil, blackened veins rupturing underneath. Then came the audible popping of sinew and bone as their limbs came apart, only to be replaced by grotesque appendages resembling tentacles and thorns. I looked at Lelya and saw pain such as I had not imagined, and what I understood as a plea trapped in her crushed throat. I watched all of this with a kind of dazed horror, but some part of me, of which I’m not entirely aware, guided my hand into my satchel to grab a fistful of powdered sulfur. What came next was an act of mercy as much as a desperate play for survival, though my conscience demands that I emphasize the former.

I clapped my palms and unleashed a Brimstone Cascade; I focused a stream of raging fire upon my former companions and prayed that I could somehow scorch away their aberrant forms, or at least give whatever was left of them a quick death. I left them, Edogai and Lelya, screeching and thrashing in flames, before I broke into a desperate run to save myself. I saw Leslie twisting in pain. I saw Boga firing a flaming arrow and then pulling Lysindra — who had been overwhelmed by panic — to her feet. I heard shouted instructions in a heavily accented voice, followed by a hundred arrows and a hundred more — which added to the fire, thoroughly purging the corruption that had consumed Lelya and Edogai. Then, a multitude of pale forms emerged from the woods, bows trained on us, and Lysindra greeted them with a trembling palm and an iron bracelet around her wrist. Thus, the Iron Pact revealed themselves, and they saved us — though not all of us.

I had read about the Iron Pact before, a sort of secret alliance between humans and forest entities, though I find myself in little mood to write about them now. I had thought Lysindra foolish, with her silly “testing” and spiritless demeanor. However, here I sit, warming myself by the fire at an elven camp, and two of my companions are dead because I ignored every piece of wisdom offered to me since even before we set out for Davokar. It’s not fair; they should be the ones sitting by this fire, and I should have fallen to the corruption. I suppose I understand Lysindra a little better now; and while she lost heart as a result of her journeys, today I have been the fool.

The Journal of Young Mordamir
(Entry 3)

Sitting by the fire at the end of a long, strange, unsettling, LONG day. At the break of dawn, I met my four companions: Edogai, a merchant type, likely hoping to meet his fortune within the forest, following in the footsteps of “mother” Mihira (local adventuring legend and tavern owner); Boga, a… goblin, of all creatures; naturally, I have no active dislike for goblins, any more than I have for monkeys, human beings, cows, sheep, or house cats, but the fact that I did not grow up around them sort of threw me off. I may have stared a while longer than what would have been polite; Leslie, the next in this veritable parade of unusual and exotic types — a genuine barbarian, and fully attired as one, including a small percussion instrument she seems to be very fond of. I did not quite get the name of her clan, though. I should endeavor to have more conversation with her, at any rate, for the sake of advancing my work; Lelya, a fellow student of the magic arts from Ordo Magica; as soon as I learned of her affiliation, I made a point to discreetly inquire about Vernam (more on that later). Establishing communication with her was difficult at first, on account of her being thoroughly engrossed with a wild panther kept as a pet by the group. Upon a cursory examination, I determined the specimen to be a female, at which Lelya hurried to name the creature “Maria Alice”. Truly, I could not have asked for a more eccentric grade of associates.

I also noticed that the panther was kept docile by the use of a strange variety of bioluminescent fungus kept within a tiny cage attached to her collar; I should really investigate the properties of this mushroom and add it to my alchemical notes. More bizarrely, the panther — in her induced “compliant” state — manifested an instinctive and powerful drive to head north. Whether this meant “north” as in either the cardinal direction or “someplace which happened to be situated to the north of where we were currently standing”, it remained to be seen. As it turned out, the group planned on relying entirely on the feline for navigation within Davokar, which made me question the wisdom of the whole enterprise. Still, I had gathered from my readings that the world outside the walls of Ordo Magica was a rather strange one, so I made no further inquiries and allowed the matter to rest.

Prior to departing, we were finally greeted by a woman named Lysindra, who — I assumed — was to play the role of guide, having been to the forest on several occasions. A more crestfallen woman I had not met before. She monologued on how strange things lurked among the trees, and how the trees themselves kept watch of travelers in the murky vastness of Davokar, etc. If her aim was to motivate us at the outset of our journey, she somehow achieved rather the opposite. Thus, we departed, not exactly in the highest of spirits.

The first few hours of our journey were fairly uneventful. The terrain was difficult, but we had a donkey to bear most of the burden. We pushed past the patch of devastated forest which separated Davokar proper from Thistle Hold. At this point, I heard Lysindra whisper something to Leslie about how the ones responsible for the deforestation would “pay for this someday”. Lelya drove the caravan, holding Maria Alice by a leash — with some effort. That’s when I offered to help with the poor intoxicated animal, finally creating the opportunity to inquire about Vernam. Apparently, my discretion had been unwarranted, as she proceeded to include everyone within earshot in a conversation on how Vernam had been found, flayed and murdered, under the most horrifying circumstances, and the local Ordo Magica authorities had successfully covered up the incident. Also, Vernam had been a double agent — operating on behalf of the Iron Pact and the city government at the same time. They went on, sharing some gossip about recent supernatural occurrences, but I was no longer listening. Vernam’s death spelled an extraordinarily bad start for my personal journey — and speaking of ill omens, don’t they say that goblins go into Davokar when they sense they’re at the end of their lives? Note to self: observe Boga for telltale signs of deteriorating health.

Good thing I am not easily discouraged. In truth, even the outskirts of the forest, where sunlight can still pierce the treetops, are breathtakingly beautiful. No accounts and drawings in a book — however artful and eloquently worded — could do justice to the real thing, nor capture the fullness of experiencing the sounds, colors, and scents of the forest. This is how I knew my joining the expedition had not been in vain. 

Of course, things going well for too long would hardly have accorded with Lysindra’s predictions. We had been following a rudimentary, hand-drawn map which was supposed to show the way to a place called the “Halls of a Thousand Tears”, and — despite being assisted by our grimalkin navigator — we had to make several adjustments to the route, on account of the increasingly challenging topography. At some point, we spotted large patches of a white material hanging from tree trunks in the distance and, even as we paused, I sensed tension in my companions.

Lysindra casually remarked, “This is your first test”, and I was genuinely conflicted between the impulse to investigate this unusual finding and a desire to strangle her. The former overcame the latter, so Leslie and I advanced tentatively. Helped by the lore of her forest-dwelling tribe, she seemed to understand the nature of those things before the rest of us did — cocooned animals, wrapped in silk, preserved for later consumption by humanoid spider creatures or some-such beasts that inhabit the forest (or, apparently, the nightmares of her people). Upon such revelation, I found myself considerably less inclined to investigate the hanging objects. At the same time, the atmosphere around us changed: a chilling drizzle thickened the air, and what little sunlight reached us played shadow tricks through the swaying foliage, as though something lay in wait, wary of us interlopers.

It felt like we were intruding, so Leslie and I nodded at each other and took several cautious steps back — only to be overtaken by Lelya (panther in hand), Edogai and Boga marching confidently forward. I grabbed Lelya by the sleeve and went, “What are you doing?” Looking back, even Lysindra seemed nervous. Lelya argued that we had to press on somehow, and I tried to point out that we were likely being led by a deranged lady who seemed intent on driving us into early graves; however, at this point, a stirring of something wet, leathery, and large shook the air and filled it with a pungent stench. It was directly ahead of us too, on the ground: an erupting membrane of oozing blackness contained something that worked desperately to escape. And escape it DID!

What emerged was huge, dark, taller than any man and thrice as bulky. I instantly recognized it from the arcane textbooks, although (again) no written or painted description could accurately approximate the thing itself. How many wizards can claim to have witnessed the birth of a troll? Very few, I’d wager, and for good reason. I wish I could say my blood didn’t freeze in my veins, but the truth is I could do nothing but gaze, in awe and terror, as the newborn creature lumbered past us, stomping a path southward, empty in every way — for this is how trolls are born. I suppose I should be thankful that none of my companions dared attack the troll (though Lelya did let go of the panther, which darted away and disappeared into the woods). At any rate, we met the creature with no violence, and thus it visited no violence upon us in return. This, according to Lysindra, meant we had “passed the test”. I hate her. I’ve barely met this woman, and I loathe her with every fiber of my being.

After this, the oppressive weather subsided somewhat, and that ominous feeling of being “observed by the forest” (whatever that means) relented. Perhaps we were tested, or at the very least there is far more to Davokar than ancient trees and their resident woodland critters. Unable to keep travelling after this episode, we set up camp to rest and restore our morale. We shall proceed tomorrow, panther-less. That is, if Lysindra does not stab us to death in our sleep.

The Journal of Young Mordamir

(Entry 2)

Arrived in Thistle Hold. It is a strange place, though perhaps that should be expected of a city built almost entirely around the promise of what lies beyond its walls. The Davokar Forest seems to occupy everyone's thoughts here. Merchants sell provisions to expeditions heading into the forest and buy whatever those same expeditions manage to bring back; I've heard so-called treasure hunters exchanging increasingly improbable stories over increasingly generous quantities of beer; and everyone appears to know someone who has ventured into the green.

Being able to read and write has already landed me some work doing inventory for expeditions headed outwards, forest-ward groups included. Hardly the sort of work I imagined myself doing after leaving Ordo Magica, but it pays, and it has afforded me the opportunity to learn something about the people who make their living exploring Davokar. They take an extraordinary amount of equipment with them. Judging by their preparations, one would think stepping beneath the trees an undertaking comparable to invading Alberetor.

So far, I've got no clue as to where I should search for Vernam. I thought it wise to acquaint myself with the city first, rather than go blindly asking random people about a former colleague. So tomorrow I will join an expedition headed into Davokar. It seems a manyfold opportunity: I can earn some coin, acquaint myself with the forest, and perhaps gather some useful information about Vernam along the way. I am particularly curious to see what warrants all the apprehension surrounding the place. It is just a forest, after all.

The Journal of Young Mordamir

(Entry 1)

Well, master Mermes is dead. Am I an orphan now? My earliest memories are of being a fatherless apprentice inhabiting the halls of Ordo Magica, so, technically speaking, I have been an orphan since long before today. Yet this is the first time I have truly felt like one. Mermes and I never troubled ourselves with defining the nature of our relationship. Father and son? Master and pupil? Fellow scholars? Perhaps all of those, woven into something for which neither of us ever sought a name. Well. Whatever it was, now it is gone.

I should not allow this journal to veer into sentimental territory, though. He would not approve of it. Reminiscing about all the hours we spent in conversation while working at the laboratory would be... bad form. But I will keep these pages as a testament to his work — which is now mine — because he was too busy, lazy or stubborn to commit enough of it to paper while he was healthy. The sickness took him too quickly, so now I alone remember much of what he knew.

There may be some advantage to that obscurity, at least. Being a wizard of no renown is precisely why I managed to smuggle the Sunstone into my belongings unnoticed. The Sunstone — his only treasure worth inheriting — I shall carry with me: A relic from the Great War, hopefully a source of insight into the very nature of magic. 

In any case, my obligations towards Ordo Magica have been voided. These walls grow cold and, faced with the options ahead of me, I choose to depart. What better way to honor the old man than to take our work out into the world? I should seek Vernam in Thistle Hold. It’s the settlement closest to the Davokar forest; he will know where I should venture. I am so very tired from the funeral, gathering my belongings, and all the planning. And I will have to find work there.