Chapter 1: Plunge
Terror has shaken people throughout the land this year as news of the so-called Conflict of Clouting spread. Most of the Clouted Ones are said to have been battered, barely clad in rags and rotten, or entirely skeletal, but some had clearly lived until after the first assault. The idea of our deceased shuffling and attacking is unprecedented. Accounts vary between two-hundred and three-hundred bodies, not counting animals, and hundreds more had to flee into the mountainhalls and further through the dangerous caverns.
When our northern brethren defeated the threat at its source, the Lost Abbey, they found morbid rituals and insane writings. Assuming evil magic, they burned the entire site and its curses down. But rumors tell of a similar cult somewhere to the south, sympathising with the ancient colossi.
Therefore, our queen Inet most graciously blesses seven trusted peons with the means of establishing an outpost far away from the clan. It will serve as a checkpoint for scouts and armies. Furthermore, a yearly caravan will provide additional supplies and accept any discovered resources.
The pioneers are as follows:
- Amöst Akärst, heinzel, 38; former militia captain from the valley, and survivor of the Ochre Colossus' recent rampage in 103
- Bromek Šigun, heinzel, 33; scribe of the Shipdip Library of Wisdom, and author of these histories
- Såksël Rodert, troll, 58; ranger and fighter from the valley, and alleged member of the Harpy Watch
- Ustir Otem, troll, 56; farmer and builder from the valley, and former šöf of the ting of hillocks Whipfout
- Čogon Fiküd, heinzel, 52; architect from the fortress Idmes, and survivor of the war against the blazing demons in 98
- Tosirid Fimšur, troll, 33; carpenter from the fortress Soakedgalley
- Asmël Mîstäm, gnome, 52; former comedian of the fortress Zansongzulban, and survivor of the Golden Colossus' recent rampage in 109
Here is a map I copied from library records.
Preparations for the journey have begun. Our available funds are as limiting as the capacity of the provided wagons. We may have to restrict ourselves to craft tools and create the rest on-site using whatever materials we find.
The list of supplies has shrunk almost into the bounds of a single wagon, but the grants still do not suffice. We are looking for ways to earn completive coin before spring comes, as the southern summers are reportedly uncomfortably warm. Human merchants from the kingdom generously advised us on these matters, and even shared their map of the region.
We are embarking today, assuming an eightday for the journey out of the capital, across the valley, and through the entrancing mountains. From there on, we will follow the river through the vast Balanced Swamp.
The directions given by the humans seem to be not entirely correct. The river flows roughly southwest, judging from the arc of the sun. At the next solid ground, we shall assemble a cairn redirecting the caravan along a different landmark.
The past days have been rainy, and the already muddy soil became a serious obstacle for our wagon. We are setting the cairn only now, and hope to correct course in the coming eightday.
In this tiresome weather, we have settled for a group name: The Weary Warriors; for we are all weary of fighting, weary of looming threats and roving redcaps, weary of politics and inexplicable orders, and most of all, weary of the trampled valley grass and erroded fortress walls. We care not to pursue dangerous rumors or extract resources all life long. The rain is glum and the clouds are drab, but none of us had felt this free in a long time.
Čogon had observed the wagon wheels struggling in the mud and suggested wrapping chains around to prevent it from sliding and spinning in place. Ironic as it may be to seek freedom by applying restraints, we are picking up pace. Nevertheless, we have yet to find a suitable location for the outpost, ideally beyond the swamp. The dry land must be close.
The dry land is nowhere to be seen, it has been raining again, and a wheel broke. We cannot lift the wagon to fix the wheel because the soil gives in. In fact, the cart may be slowly sinking into the watery ground. We see no choice but to release the horses from their harness and make a shelter here. Between the puddles and quag are hummocks of safe ground. Enough trees to almost form a canopy, meaning enough wood to make platforms on those hummocks. The mood should be dismal, and yet we are jesting and laughing at work. This month-long journey has let us prove to each other and ourselves what we are capable of.
Here, at Ritharthikthog, the Weary Warriors strike the earth!