Jake's Journal
~
Book IV
Entry 1
Dear Oghma,
This morning I was summoned to council with Lord Harold in his private meeting chamber. One might think that after 15 years in this castle I would’ve grown used to the marble floors, and the tapestry laden walls with their molded crowns. One might think I would’ve been able to ignore the trophy cases, or the glitz and glimmer of crystal goblets and wine decanters. One might even think that I would’ve overcome my distaste in the opulence of it all, but as I entered the room, flooded with the sunlight through the immense windows, I was reminded of the frivolity, and wished I could sell it all to feed the gaping mouths of a thousand hungry children. I believe I gasped out loud my Lord, though it was all a nevermind since Lord Harold wasn’t even present when I entered the room.
I was very surprised to see the gnome, Esmir Elda, already at the table laughing with Elrick about some whoknowswhat. It was probably some prank involving flaming paper bags of horse manure, or whoopee cushions I’d imagine. Regardless, we greeted each other in a respectful manner before they turned to each other and had a laugh. I was in the act of checking myself to make sure their moment of humor wasn’t at my expense, when Lord Albion was introduced by his feeble yet faithful Butler, Mitts.
He entered the room at a quick and deliberate pace, and left Mitts standing dumbly with his helping hands outstretched and empty, since Harold simply pushed his cape to one side and sat. Though he has lived beyond 60 years, he is still a spritely fellow with some wind still at his back. He still holds his handsome features too, as he is a man who seems to age well. But you know all of this Lord Oghma, as I have mentioned in previous journals when I’ve struggled over the dismay in his wife’s advances toward me. With his status and good looks I’m left in flattered amazement as to why I, who bears the scars of a life of hardship, had to resist and instruct her to stay true to him. He is a good man, honest and untainted, and I will forever remain loyal to he who has allowed me the finer things in life, all as compensation for helping to raise his Son.
It has not been the easiest task, of course, but I do feel a great sense of pride in considering the young man that I have helped him become. He is intelligent, witty, and a gentleman, of course. He is a bit headstrong at this age, and I fear I can no longer hold him back from his true desire to venture into the world beyond the walls of Ravenshome. He does not want what the kids call these days “a desk job”, my Lord. He is anxious to travel across Faerun, and to wield his glaive in the face of evil and injustice. Though I’m afraid that his motives might be partially fueled by the want to prove himself to his father, whose eldest son, Bastian, has already faced and defeated many foes, and who has become somewhat of a hero in his own right, I know that his intentions are just and that the remainder of what burns his insides burns for the greater good.
Well my Lord, I am pleased to say that it is the Lord Albion’s wish that his Son is given the opportunity that he himself never had, and that I have been dispatched to escort Elrick on his maiden adventure. On the morrow, Esmir Elda and I are to lead the boy to Daggerford, where we will meet with Sir Isteval and learn the details of the latest news of the trouble happening about the Sword Coast. It appears that masses of goblins, orcs, and other miscreants are again causing mischief throughout the lands, and I can find no other opportunity that would serve a better circumstance in which Elrick could gain the experience points he needs to be able to rise to the seat of the Lordship with which he will one day be entrusted. That is, of course, if he survives.
I understand that I have asked for your blessings many times in the past, but it is now Lord Oghma, I ask that your blessings be placed upon the Son of Lord Albion, and to protect the boy as he makes his way into the world beyond fighting woolen-stuffed dummies in the Tiltyard. I ask that your blessings help guide him to victory over his enemies, as he fights for that which is good, and lends weight to balance against that of evil.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your humble servant,
Jake
Entry 2
Dear Oghma,
This is the first time in over 15 years that I’ve camped, and I have to admit that I’ve grown spoiled by the living conditions in Ravenshome. I am not used to dining off of tin plates and cups, sleeping on hard surfaces with only a bedroll beneath my back, and I have seemed to lost my sense of organization. I believe the quests during my years at The Silent Room in Suzail were frequent to the point where I was able to maintain my sense of order when living out of a backpack. Now it seems I must start fresh in figuring out my “system”. I only say this, my Lord, because I woke this morning to find my toothbrush in the pocket where I keep my compass, and a sack of dried meat in the pocket of my cloak. The latter being a foolish mistake, and downright dangerous when considering how it can act as a lure to wild animals such as wolves and bears.
On the bright side, Elrick survived his first battle as we cleared out a group of goblins and their wolves causing mischief in a roadside farmhouse. They claimed the Red Wizards are promoting this, and it appears a new wave of chaos is taking place under their direction, as we are now imbedded in what has become a caravan of souls who have been forced out of their homes, and are in route to Daggerford. Most all of them are simple farmers, and laypeople who have never been taught how to defend themselves, and so we have taken it upon ourselves to defend them in light of the matter. And now that I see people arising from their bedrolls, I must gather my things, reorganize, and do what the kids say these days prepare to “hit the road”.
Your humble servant,
Jake
Entry 3
Dear Lord Oghma,
As we were breaking down camp this morning I looked up to see a rider kicking up a cloud of dust and stones as he raced toward us as if he was carrying some urgent news. Much to my surprise, and a bit to my exasperation, my Lord, it was none other than Cullen McGregor on his trusty steed Appa. I fear he has now joined us in our travels as he flatly stated, “I will not be kept out of adventure.” Well, I know his heart is kind, and he will do well with his blades, but knowing his impetuous nature I fear he might stir up trouble when it might best be avoided. Understanding his past, trouble seems to follow him around as if it was some sort of companion of his. You may remember, he was the boy who I tried my hardest to keep from influencing Elrick, yet often enough Elrick was right at his side as they were delivered home by a guard at his other side.
Though it’s been only a single day Cullen’s deeds have been better than good, as he was very helpful to the needy in our ever growing caravan of refugees. What with sharing his rations with some of the hungry, giving aid to a few who were wounded, and at one point even walking beside Appa while he allowed a weary woman to ride upon the horse, I have noticed the boy has reached a level of maturity that I once believed he was incapable of. It is refreshing to me to witness this growth, though I must add that he still has much to learn about what the kids call these days “road trips” as Cullen is only equipped with the skivvies that he is wearing, and I foresee a great battle in the near future against a force of pesky flies. As Esmir Elda stated, we may have to do some skivvy shopping once we reach Daggerford.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your faithful servant,
Jake
Entry 4
Dear Lord Oghma,
As more of the refugees grew weary of the road, our task of keeping them healthy enough to continue onto our goal grew more difficult by the hour. As we sailors say all hands were on deck, as the four of us moved among the travellers with food and water and revived the fallen when it was necessary. Esmir made her herbal concoctions to boost the spirits and energy levels of those who fell behind, while Elrick and Cullen spoon-fed some who hadn’t eaten in days. I, my Lord, cured wounds at least 6 times over the last two days, and otherwise poured water into the parched mouths of those suffering from dehydration. I do believe the spirits of most were reborn once we caught a glimpse of Daggerford in the distance, because it was then that I noticed the caravan begin to break apart as the spritely moved on at a quick pace, while the sick and elderly struggled to merely drag themselves along. All four of our horses carried a soul on the precipice of death, and I felt the need to even reassure Longface to push on with his burden. Such a fine horse he is, and such a loyal friend.
Well, my Lord, we came upon trouble immediately outside of the gates of Daggerford. It appears as though the town is completely overrun with migrants seeking shelter from the dangers that have befallen the Sword Coast. At first I was amazed by the size of which our own caravan had grown, but upon seeing the crowds already settled around the gates of Daggerford I was stunned by shock. In fact, the town is so overly populated that the Duke has ordered the gates be locked, and entrance forbidden to those poor folks who have lost their homes and livelihoods. The entire scene resembled a faire without any of the festivities. Perhaps there is some merit in the argument that the town is literally over-crowded, but there is also a rumor that has threaded through the area that the Duke has lost an ancient artifact, and that it is the true reason why he has barred entry to the refugees. Apparently, this ancient relic – a quartzite block carved into a face by Dwarves, had become a part of the Duke’s collection of artifacts. But is it of so much value that it should exceed that of a single life, let alone hundreds of lives? I think not, my Lord. I think not.
What I do think is our new Halfling friend, Curran Corvalyn is a nice man but a bit astray with his worshipping of Tymora. He gave us a tour of the town before bringing us into his favorite pub where we gambled for a treasure map of the ruins of Harpshield Castle. It was in a fool’s game called 3’s, and Elrick won the map, but I trust it was your hand that tumbled the dice, my Lord, and that no luck shone upon our tutelage this evening from some false Goddess.
On the morrow we will meet with the town constable, Sherlyn, who after the situation at the gates this afternoon, ordered us to appear at her office. I am not sure what she wants with us, though I feel we are owed some recognition of our good deeds in helping to quell the riot her guard nearly caused. Whatever the case may be, we have already missed the mark as our goal, Sir Isteval, has gone away before our arrival. I fear we may be stuck in this dastardly town for a couple ten-day awaiting his return. My fear is doubled, however, of what that time may bring since I feel no comfort in Elrick and Cullen being sucked into gambling at the Lady Luck tavern every night. This may turn very ugly.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my sould to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your humble servant ,
Jake
Entry 5
Dear Oghma,
There came so much news today that I’m afraid that each bit played its role in coloring as many strands of my hair to gray, and I can tell you that the brain beneath it all is awhirl in confusion as to where to begin sorting out the mess.
I guess I will begin by telling you that we have learned that the Duke’s artifact is indeed missing and that it is called the Bloke. It seems as though a carpenter by the name of Alvin Gissen forged a copy of it for a new acquaintance of ours named Jek Ironfist just before it was reportedly stolen. Shortly thereafter we learned that Alvin Gissen has gone missing.
And if that wasn’t enough to raise an eyebrow we then learned that this Sherlyn constable, or Master of the Guard or whatever she calls herself, was absolutely rude upon our arrival, and she went so far as to blame us for yesterday’s mayhemicness outside of the gates. Well we set her straight enough, and although she did turn about in her accusations with an apology, I can’t begin to explain to you how that set off my nerves.
She then walked us to the cell where she had locked away her soldier who had gone astray in the mind, and showed us his lifeless body splayed upon the floor. Apparently, he hung himself in his cell, but only after he had told her that he heard a familiar female voice in his head prior to firing into the crowd. We have learned that his name was Gringol.
We also learned of the possibility that the town of Jolkoun has a great many mishappenings going on there, as no news has come in quite a many ten-day, and that Daggerford’s usual shipments of fine silk from that town have not appeared for just as long.
We even learned of a nightly companion of Gringol’s named Natsia, who just so happens to also be a companion of Alvin Gissen! What with Gringol dangled and Gissen missing, I am liking to suspect her as the common thread in all that is amiss! How could I not? With her one piercing blue eye, as if it’s a looking glass through which a greater evil observes and forces her to enchant these poor souls. It is apparent that she, if there is no greater evil behind her actions, feeds on the feeble minded and those who cannot control their urges to… what the kids are calling these days, get their whistles wet. You see my Lord, I have no trust in this wicked wench, as she is skilled in speaking with the accent of a trickster whose aim is to lure a man’s clothes to the floor. And to top off this whole mess of a day, Esmir Elda followed this stray tongued whore to the castle, where she walked right in past the guards and gates and not one of them asked a word of her as she passed! Well, I ask you my Lord Oghma, what do you make of that? I’ll tell you what I make of that, there is as much chaos going on inside the walls of this town as there is on the outside, and I can only hope that a good long rest will allow me to organize all of these thoughts in my own mayhemic mind.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your faithful servant,
Jake
Entry 6
Dear Oghma,
After a short discussion with my companions we’ve decided that the best course of action would be to venture off to the town of Julkoun to assess the situation there. After all, we will not be able to meet up with Sir Isteval until he returns in a couple ten-day, and there is much gossip about the missing shipments from Julkoun that this town so heavily relies upon. In fact, it seems to be a greater mystery around these parts than the Duke’s stolen Bloke. I find it all so intriguing, my Lord, since it is a great opportunity for gaining knowledge, for what are mysteries if not questions needing answers?
We mounted our horses and began our trek northward through the rain to the Delimbyr Route. The terrain being so flat and open offered us no protection from the endless drizzle, and by mid-afternoon our clothes were mostly soaked through, but we pressed on until the gray grew grayer in the West. In hindsight I can say that camping roadside was not, nor ever is, a good idea, but after a long day of travel a pre-established site is always enticing. The site was set just beneath a cliff with a switchback trail that led up to the Vale. It’s in plain sight of anyone who might’ve been looking to ambush our group, yet now in rethought it wasn’t as bad of an idea on our part to camp there as it was a bad idea of the band of brigands and their dogs to attack us this morning just as we were about to set off again.
Apparently, they thought we were a group of weaklings who would simply turn over our horses and our belongings without a fight. To think I would give up Longface! Ha! Well the fight was on, and the air immediately filled with the sounds of swords clanging, spells humming and swooshing, and skulls cracking. Soon after it started it ended, with their only survivor being the man who Esmir had put to sleep. Of course, my Lord, and with all thanks to you, I do not believe in ruthless murder as all life is precious. And so we agreed not to kill him in his sleep, but to let him survive to tell our tale. Esmir, however, was not going to let him simply walk away without a limp of some sort, so she left him with his skivvies pulled up and stretched over his head. There is no doubt he was feeling a mighty ache in his loinal region when he awoke! He could now tell the tale of our band. He can now tell the tale of what happens to those who try to clash against us!
After the brawl we were finally able to depart, though now a bit richer than we were last night. It seems as though the men had quite a few coins that I’ll assume were pilfered from some unlucky souls that happened to have crossed their path. “Had”, my Lord, is the key word here as those coins are now in our purses, wet as they may be, seeing that the rain at that point had yet to let up.
The day was nothing but being surrounded with seemingly endless miles of grassland, and the wish that we could get ourselves out of the rain and under cover in any type of wood or glade was not meant to come true. Again, nearing the end of day time we approached a cliff with another switchback trail leading up to yet another steppe. This time we took ourselves to the top before setting up camp. We were also wise enough to choose a spot where we will sleep away from the road. And now that I train my eyes upward I can see the clouds have thinned and are rolling away to let pass the light of the stars.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your faithful servant,
Jake
Entry 7
Dear Oghma,
Another day and a half on the trail has led us to what is either an enchanted forest, or I have gone mad. The emerald leaves are so brilliant they seem to have been cast to life by a wizard’s wand. The streams flow with water like liquid crystal, and the dust that dances in the sun’s rays appears to have been flecked from pure gold. Even more astonishing are woodland creatures that are all seemingly fluent in our tongue, and were even able to persuade us into following them through this magical glade to their Mistress, a Dryad who goes by the name Oyphanyen. Her legs are formed of two thick networks of entwined roots which rise into the smooth skin of her body, wrapped beneath vines that snake up and along her torso to her neck and down her arms. Her hair is made of thin branches and leaves that glisten green in the light of the sunbeams that cut through the forest canopy. Her face is most captivating, however, with prominent cheekbones that protrude beneath jade green eyes that defy her chestnut complexion. Cullen claims that I’ve been bewitched by her, and judging by Elrick’s smirk the two seem to be in agreement. Maybe they are correct, but at this point I see it as a matternot, since I have no complaint about being struck by her beauty and the pang that I feel in my chest whenever she speaks. A pang like I haven’t felt since my years with Marta back in Suzail. You see my Lord, I am not seeking control of this situation, since the situation is more than comforting. It was lust at first sight, and though I struggle with my thoughts of betraying my memories of Marta, the thought of Oyphanyen makes it rather easy, almost as if I’m not betraying anyone or anything since I am simply comfortably lost. Comfortably out of control, and though I could hear Esmir speaking something about rolling eyes, and another something about cold showers, I certainly haven’t been listening with much consciousness to make any matter of it.
Entry 8
Dear Oghma,
I have been struggling to recall any conversation we might’ve had with Oyphanyen. I’m beginning to believe I have been so distracted by her beauty that I completely missed a number of events that led up to the moment where I found myself venturing through the forest to raid a goblin camp. One minute my entire world consisted of myself and Oyphanyen alone in the woods, and the next I was reunited with my companions and a boar! My first instinct was to kill the tuskated pig, as they are renowned for their indiscriminate aggressiveness toward all things that move. Not to mention they make a fine meal when sliced into bacon. Though once I learned it was born as some sort of pet to Esmir, I knew that it would fight for us against our enemies, and that I would need to wait for my hunger for the savory meat to wane. Not to mention, that bovine creature is sort of cute in its own, shall we say, not so cute way.
Apparently, Esmir was given a gift by the dryad in the form of a small ball of fuzz, which when tossed upon the ground will turn into a random animal which will help us in our quests. Well, my Lord, I don’t recall any moment where the exchanging of gifts took place, but not only did Esmir receive her magic fuzz ball but Elrick, Cullen, and I were given healing berries, 10 each. I wasn’t even aware until I felt them loose in my cloak pocket.
As we walked the flattened path through the trees I was confused as to how I allowed myself to fall prey to such enchantment, while feeling somewhat betrayed by my instincts. Well, my Lord, we raided this camp of goblins in a rather brutal fashion that I’m fairly positive you would not approve of. I only wish that Esmir Elda would not be so brutal in her… methods of research and development. I understand that the life of a goblin who is seeking to dine on our flesh and blood may not be as valuable as that of a friendly creature, but to try to gore them with the tusk of a boar while they are bound and defenseless seems a bit excessive, if not downright barbaric, to me. Well, it was a nevermind at the end of it all, as the boar didn’t fare too well in its practice. In fact, it seemed as if the boar itself wanted nothing to do with Esmir’s whim, and so it simply ran straight past the helpless goblin as if it wasn’t even there. The affair was left to Elrick and his bloodlust, as he used the technicality that it was only Cullen who promised not to kill the goblins, and thus satisfied their wants of being set free by setting their souls free from their wretched bodies for evermore. Of course my Lord, he only skewered those creatures after he reminded us of his family mantra, “If you wrong me I will salt your fields and ruin your name.”
Well as quickly as that had come and gone, I had gone and come to seek the companionship of Oyphanyen. I know we have a long day ahead of us as we enter Jolkoun on the morrow. I thought having what the kids call these days “a cuddle session” with the dryad might help me enter the town in a chipper mood. Well, as is obvious by now, I’m alone in my bedroll writing to you, my Lord. I called out for her and heard the mysterious giggle behind me, and so I turned and went in the direction of where her beautiful voice still lingered in the damp forest air. When I grew near I called out again, but only to hear that giggle come from where I started. It wasn’t long before I grew tired of playing this game of hide and seek, and so I’ve resorted to sleeping alone again. And though my companions might find humor in my weakness against this enchantment, I find it unsettling in as much as one who would wish to find happiness in sobriety feels helpless against their urge to return to their flask. It is a strange addiction that I would rather not have controlling me at this moment. And so my Lord I will give in to sleep as I know there in my dreams I am untouchable.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your faithful servant,
Jake
Entry 9
Dear Oghma,
I have not written in a few days as periods of rest were not as abundant here in Julkoun as I would’ve liked. This was not only due to the sheer number of goblins and hobgoblins that have infested the town, but also because the act of clearing them from the city was made next to impossible as my attempts to attack missed more often than not. In fact, they missed all of the time. Lord Oghma, I beg your forgiveness in advance for what I am about to write, but when we initially embarked on this adventure I had hoped to be more of a mentor to Elrick, seeing I’ve been his teacher and mentor for the majority of his life. Yes I do understand, and remember well, that I had asked you to watch over Elrick on this, his maiden adventure, and I want to thank you for what seems to be your undivided attention toward him and his protection, but is it possible to divide your attention just enough to lend your blessings to him and his skills while not leaving me buried in the pit of humiliation? In the future, could you simply give me a sign or signal of any sort by which I will be notified of your plan to vacate my presence? To say that these past few days have been embarrassing would be an understatement. It is an odd feeling when my own tutelage shows greater skills in the art of battle than I, seeing that I have… what the kids say these days, “been there, done that”.
If you will allow me to scribe an example I will lend what I now refer to as the Rooftop Incident, when it was apparent that you were either disregarding my prayers for your assistance, or you were completely absent. And I’ll remind you that had nothing to do with attacking. I was simply trying to climb down a rooftop.
If that is not enough to prove my point I can point out the affair upon the ramparts when I became a pincushion for goblinoid arrows, while the arrows I fired in return seemed to veer beyond my enemies and only stick into the ground. Or I can point out the very next moment in time when we fled into the Jester’s Pride. Hiding beneath an open window, I fired a bolt at the goblin who stood outside peering in with his face only inches away… Of course, I missed.
My Lord, by the time we had enough time to rest I had a single hit point left to live with, and yet my battery of weapons and spells made contact with not a single enemy. By the time we had enough time to rest the only good I could provide my friends was to sprinkle a bit of holy water on them… for those blessings I thank you. Yes, I understand these words may seem blasphemous, and you might take this entry as a diatribe, but at this point I am willing to take the chance to offer you the honesty that freely passes through my mind. No, my words are not conjured from willful insolence. They are conjured from willful honesty, as that is what you expect from everyone. And since I know after so many decades to never have expectations of you, I can only ask that you at least let me hit something. Because being lucky to be alive is not a fun way to be.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your faithful servant,
Jake
Entry 10
Dear Oghma,
It’s been quite some time since I’ve written as we’ve been very busy bringing justice to the lands. The last time I wrote in this journal I was holding a grudge toward you, for which I must now apologize. And I do from the pit of my heart, as you’ve made it clear that you have yet to cut the channel which binds us. I have called on you countless times since then, and you’ve sent your powers to guide me to this moment when I am still alive enough to write.
This most recent battle against the Cletus Family and their dogs, I must admit, was not one of our shiniest moments. We were all lifeless at some point in the battle… and maybe you feel that I need to be reminded of my mortality every now and again… I’m not sure. I thank you, however, for giving me the power to force some life back into Cullen so he in turn could finish the fight.
I will also thank you for assisting in our successes at the Harpshield Castle. We found not only the harp and the shield from which the castle was named, but we also found a shirt of mail which has the odd characteristic of resisting dust. Of course, the spoils are not at all what I fight for, my Lord Oghma. I fight to bring justice to those who cause harm against the weak, the poor, and downtrodden souls of these lands. No, I do not fight to pick the pockets of the thief, but to return to the people what those thieves have thieved. And yes, of course, I fight to swell the shriveled brains of the dumb with knowledge.
For nearly three decades I’ve called upon you, Oghma, just as you have called upon me. Many times there was no response to my calling… And though I know that I should be used to those times by now, I cannot since I am not, nor will I ever be… Though it does make me wonder… how many times have you called upon me, and I failed to answer your call….
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Oghma my soul to keep. If I shall die before I wake, I pray Oghma my soul to take.
Your humble servant,
Jake