A Terrible Accident!

In the early morning hours of the 30th day of Bloodthaw, a carriage bringing servants of the Noble HouseMountain pass of Windlock, tragically drove off of a cliff in the Icewind Mountains, killing all on board. The area known as Barley Pass has been the scene of such tragedy before. The tricky mountain road is also the quickest trade route through this area, so skilled carriage drivers are known to attempt it even with the risk.

All that is known about this accident so far is that there were 5 Windlock servants and the carriage driver on board. House Windlock expresses deep sorrow for those that died and will publicly acknowledge them by name in a memorial service once the bodies are recovered, if that is possible. This was truly a sad and horrific incident.

Weird Woodtrolls in the Woods

All Vigilant Citizens of Irvanshire,

I hope your winter was warm and restful, and you were able to spend time with loved ones. The Great Frostwood had a rather mild winter, with only a handful of snowfalls, which was a welcome contrast from the last few years, let me tell you.

But, alas, I wish the reason for this open letter was to bring you all nothing but good tidings, but I fear it is not. Some of you may remember my entreaty for citizens in the wooded areas of Irvanshire to stay watchful for any strange activities regarding migrating wood trolls. For almost the entirety of this winter, wood troll activity around my compound has been almost non-existent. I had begun to ease in my wariness, attributing the recent behavior of the trolls as some strange fluke, and was ready to put the matter to rest.

Until last week, that is.

I had just returned home from a survey in a nearby grove, and was sitting at my kitchen table while drinking some tea and thinking about the upcoming bloom, when my front door was shattered by a tremendous crash as two wood trolls entered my house! Now, anyone who has ever dealt with this manner of creature can immediately understand how off-putting this situation was in which I found myself; two wood trolls INSIDE my house. As I readied my axes to dispatch them, I also couldn’t help notice that, at first glance, these trolls looked…off. Sick, even. It was when I engaged in combat with them that my suspicions were further aroused. These trolls employed none of the usual tactics typically used by their kind, and it was clear that, under more intense study, large patches of mold and fungus appeared to be growing in and on their bodies. They almost…looked dead entirely.

As I beheaded them with my axes, I was greeted with one final surprise. Instead of lying there motionless, the bodies of the wood trolls convulsed violently for a few moments and then exploded; showering both myself and the inside of my home with a noxious, viscous fluid. It was toxic enough to make me vomit a few times and feel a bit of fatigue, however, I’ve also built up an immunity to various poisons, so I’m not entirely sure what effect it would have on people without said immunity.

It is my belief, at this point, that the wood trolls were not migrating north for some unknown reason; rather, I believe they were fleeing whatever malady seems to have befallen them, much like normal wildlife would flee an encroaching forest fire. Over the next few days, I heard reports from several other colleagues of mine that they, too, had had similar experiences. One had even mentioned fighting off a HUMAN with similar symptoms.

Something terrible is upon us. I don’t know where it came from, but, I only see it getting worse from here. If any of you folks are brave enough while encountering these afflicted wood trolls, I am seeking out collected pieces of various molds and fungi to further research, and welcome deliveries of these objects at my estate in The Great Frostwood.

Until this is resolved, be wary. Travel in numbers. And keep an eye to the woods.
-Arados Holfax, Woodwarden of The Great Frostwood

Spring Brings Unusual Animal Activity to Elmerton

A Warning to the citizens of Elmerton

Citizens of Elmerton:

As of late the animals and various other beings that live in the woods around your great town have started becoming rather aggressive. In the past month alone three people have lost their lives to animal attacks in these woods. We at the Fledgar’s Fellers are doing what we can to keep the animals at bay, but there is only so much we can do and many from our company have been injured as well, preventing them from being able to work.

We wanted to warn you of these dangers in the deep woods area and advise you to stick to the main roads when at all possible. If you have a sword, bow or any other type of weapon to defend yourself please keep it with you at all times.

We are working to resolve this issue, and are searching for a source of the animals’ hostility and abrupt change in behaviors. No doubt it has something to do with the various “problems” Elmerton has faced recently. Thank you in advance for your understanding and for all of your help and please stay safe. We will all get through this together.

Lynnette Ilsfirmg
Assistant Project Manager
FLedgar's Fellers Symbol Color

Sons of Alaric Seeking Help

Please read and take heed my friends!!!

Greetings!

I am Kurtis Brightmark, the librarian and official record keeper for the Sons of Alaric- Kingdom of Irvanshire Mother Chapter. As some of you may have heard by now, one of the biggest enemies of not only our group, but humanity itself, was the vile Garland Decedres. He was one of the three founders of Project:Deadma,n and by far the most mentally unstable. Project:Deadman and its success, until the combined efforts of the SOA and Elmerton brought it down, was not his ultimate goal. He wished to become an incarnation and very nearly pulled it off. After his death at the hands of the heroes of Elmerton and the eventual destruction of Project:Deadman, most figured his evil was wiped from the face of our world. We were wrong. His son, a man by the name of Dedrick, still draws breath after being freed from an SOA jail. On top of that, a journal Garland kept seems to have been scattered across all of Irvanshire and possibly even beyond. These pages could contain terrifying power and long lost dark arts. Please, if you stumble across anything that you think may even be a page, please report it to the local magistrate or to the nearest manor house.

Thank you for your attention,

Stay safe and be well,

Kurtis Brightmark

A Chill in the Boneyard

It was a normal day in my little roadside inn- the Murmuring Monk, at least it seemed like it was going to be, until she walked in. I was cleaning things up from last night’s guests and getting ready for the folks that usually come in the morning when I noticed a strange lass walk in- almost like she was lost. She sat next to the hearth, the embers still glowing from the night before, and asked if I could get the fire going again. I thought this strange since it has not been that cold in some time with this strange winter we have had. However, I stoked the fire and tossed on a log, telling her that if she needed more she could help herself. I didn’t count on her tossing on 4 more logs. Before long, the fire was roaring, but still the young lass tried to get closer to the fire. I let her be, figuring she would warm soon enough, and went back to my work and started getting the kitchen ready.

When I came back from the kitchen a while later, the young lass was still there, still keeping the fire blazing. I could see steam rising from her cloak, so I decided to get her some hot broth and some warm cider to try and help warm her. As I brought them to her and set them down she whispered, in a haunted voice, “Thank you,” her words leaving her seemingly frosted lips in a puff of cold vapor despite the blazing heat in the room.

“Are you ok, lass?” I asked, concerned. She continued to stare into the blazing hearth, like she was trying to burn images in it, and said “There are more tombstones… in the darkness… so many more tombstones.” Puzzled, I asked her to explain. Coming out of her reverie, she recounted her tale, short as it was:

“I like graveyards. I find them comforting, you know, and I’ve heard tales of this one. The Sacred Boneyard of Aegus the Emancipator. It’s supposed to be so grand and peaceful and ancient and everything a graveyard should be. So I went in, into the Boneyard. And it’s all true. It’s wonderful there. I walked around a bit, looking and reflecting on Death and I wandered over to a particularly dark corner of the Boneyard- a place that seemed overgrown. Almost as if the caretaker ha872621770_73f13e1e3b_bd neglected it for years and Nature had reclaimed it. That’s when I saw them- so many fresh graves. Some only holes in the ground- like they were waiting.

Normally it would mean nothing to me: Wars happen all the time and I’ve seen my share of all kinds of graves- freshly buried, empty, long since covered, but this was different. As I watched, my vision jolted and shifted and a previously empty grave would be filled in. Another jolt and a sense of vertigo and a name would appear on the stone. My vision shifted again and suddenly I was standing in a grave looking up as a young man with a strange haunted visage and pointed ears emptied a shovel full of dirt into my face. Panicked, I scrambled out of the grave and stumbled back towards the Boneyard gate.

As I looked back at those stones, it was like the chill of those graves crept into my very being before they disappeared into the darkness once more. I’ve had terrible nightmares since then and I cannot seem to get warm.” She shivered and sipped her cider. “I feel as though I will never be warm again.”

I myself felt chilled, but I told the lass that this area around the Bay had not seen war nor even a battle for years, and that an influx of that many deaths would have brought news to me, at least. Patting her on the shoulder, I tried to comfort her, “It must have been your imagination, lass.”

She looked at me distantly and shook her head. “No, sir. It wasn’t my imagination. I see them die in my nightmares. I don’t even know them. But in my dreams those graves are marked, marked in stone and in spirit, for the fallen heroes of Elmerton.” She sipped her cider once more and looked into my eyes for the first time. Visions of gruesome deaths, violent fights, and cold, dark graves filled my mind. Shaken, I broke our gaze and looked away. “I don’t even know them,” she whispered before falling silent.

I patted her on the shoulder and walked away, needing to do something to keep my mind off this encounter. By the time I had finished mopping the kitchen, she had finished what I had given her and left. She even left a nice tip. By and large, it was a strange way to start the day.

-Recounted by Virgil, Innkeeper at the Murmuring Monk