19/11/24
10th Day of Abrior (February) 1355
Weather: Clear. Cold.
High Temperature: 7 degrees Celsius.
Low Temperature: 3 degrees Celsius.
Mission: Greendale
Campaign: Hunt the Bandits, Goblins and Whatevers
Location(s): Crowned Gryphon Inn, Avalon, Capital City of Albion.
Present: Thia Lathalas, Hugh Greendale, Sara and Kyrrha.
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From the Personal Recollections of Kyrrha: 10th day of Adriol in the year 1355.
Avalon. Capital of Albion.
So this is where the roads have led me. Tieldar, Highmantle, Tellindale, and
now here—Avalon. The name sounds noble, but so far, the city is a cauldron of
filth, self-importance, and opportunity. My journey has been long and grueling,
punctuated by that rotting excuse for a ship. Months away from those who
would see me returned—or worse. They will not find me here. Not yet.
The Crowned Gryphon is a place that
reeks of mediocrity, but it suits my needs. No luxury, no attention. A small
mercy. I chose a seat facing the door, instinct demanding it. The ale is barely
tolerable, the food worse, but I endure.
Observation.
I’ve already encountered intrigue. A table of Elves, led by a female of
importance. She does not sit as one of the bodyguards. No, her posture is one
of dominance, softened by arcane grace. High Elf. Money. Power. Connections.
Her name may be Elyssa, or perhaps Thia—either way, she is marked
as a target to study.
The male—Thaniel—and the three
bodyguards are more straightforward. Muscles with pointy ears. Compliant
threats to be avoided unless necessary.
I observe in silence. Watch. Listen. Learn.
They speak of a distant place, one of those elvish havens I have no desire to
see. Their talk holds no reverence in my ears. They will learn that the
surface world is not theirs to rule, no matter their delusions.
A Human.
A ranger. He introduces himself as Hugh, a man from Avenmoor. He
searches for something he calls a Marked Abomination—a vague tale of woe
and foolish superstition. I feign interest, but his lack of reward or plan does
not amuse me. I owe him nothing.
He departs, leaving me with the faint odor of
his presence. Simple minds. Simple threats.
The Dragonborn.
A lizard folk has joined the Elves’ table, her name Sara. She
holds their familiarity, and yet her presence disrupts their composure. She and
the arcane High Elf share a bond. Interesting.
This Sara intrigues me. A fellow
wanderer, perhaps? She seems clever, her manner hiding layers of purpose. I
take note: she may be more useful than the rest of this room combined. The way
she carries herself suggests experience with power, perhaps even the arcane.
Danger. The Warning.
My attention wandered—a mistake I will not repeat. They spoke in fingers.
Sign language. A subtle conversation missed, but I caught enough to
recognize its potential threat. My blood surged with caution, and I whispered
my reminder:
"Nykeōtis ānogar, morghūlās lēkia
māzī."
("Never again, death will come for my enemies.")
The lizard woman, Sara, noticed. She
met my warning with a look I will not forget. Her gaze pierced deeper than
most, unsettling yet oddly reassuring. She knows.
It has been a long time since Sshamath'enil has stirred with satisfaction. Perhaps this city is worth my
time after all.
Opportunity.
A city guard, bearing a poster for employment. The mayor of
Greendale, Rena Faulern, seeks aid. It seems Sara calls Greendale home.
Another thread to unravel.
The human, Hugh, has returned with news of a
caravan heading there. Opportunity for coin, and perhaps more. The
others—Sara and Hugh—approached me with an offer. Employment. A share of the
reward for aiding the mayor in Greendale.
Naturally, I pressed for better terms. Expenses
covered. After all, they approached me. To my surprise, Sara agreed to
cover the cost herself, a gesture I suspect is more strategic than
generous.
The agreement earned me a free meal, ale,
and bed for the night, all paid for by my new “allies.” I will keep my
distance for now, but I see their potential. This group, ragtag as it may be,
could provide the cover I require. If nothing else, they will serve as shields
should danger arise.
Let them come. Let them try. I am Kyrrha, and
I am not done yet.
Companions.
The caravan’s wagon master, Garrick, seems competent enough. There are
two others traveling—a father and son, quiet but unremarkable. For now, I watch
and keep to myself.
I walk this path with my eternal companions: Sshamath'enil:
The silent one. Yathrin'kalar: The voice of precision and judgment. Ril’sharynn:
Weaving death from the darkness.
They know me better than any soul ever could.
Sleep, darkness is my happy place.
Caution.
My identity remains intact. My secrets are safe—for now. But I must know more
about DANGER. Something lingers, watching from the edges of my
awareness.
Greendale is a step forward, but also closer
to the unknown. For now, I rest. Tomorrow, I tread the line between obscurity
and opportunity once more.
Let them come. Let them try. I am Kyrrha, and
I am not done yet.
