I, Lord Raven of Wyvern Point, of clear mind and soul, hereby put down my full confession should I perish in my hall, in my bed, or more likely, by the hands of those sworn to me. I have done nothing wrong. Here are my words.
The gods have sent me an awful reminder of my past, Cormac, a beast-master and lore collector who came in search of me to discuss a job I do not wish to dwell on and barely remember. Of course I thought the man was an assassin, since there was no reason for any sane person to care that much over the life of a single bird, and I was right… No sane person would. This was Cormac, the obsessed, bookish, road-dirty madman that didn’t seem to think twice about me rowing him out in the middle of the lake with nothing but a pair of weighted shackles to troll for fish.
But the gods do love to laugh. Troll we did.
Giant. Frozen in a pillar of ice quickly melting. Well known to all but the lord of the fucking castle.
We travelled far (but not far enough) to sit with Cavi, the Northern Entrantress, and the one responsible for imprisoning the troll in the first place. She sends us on an errand we may not see the end of with not but a few months kludge to keep the beast at bay. Perhaps I should cut my losses and leave town and troll behind. I don’t know.
Izzy is too enthralled by Cormac’s books and drawings. Cormac is too enthralled by his own books and drawings. My people, for what it is worth, are too enthralled by me, of all things, thinking I will call down a Wyvern of my own as master of this keep. Maybe I can use that belief to wring some cash from them before I go? Fair payment, I say, for a bad deal filled with undisclosed trolls on ice.
[this journal entry was accompanied with a very detailed drawing of a pretty blue bird sitting on a nest of eggs in the marginalia]
Read More of Raven’s Confessions Here.
Read Judd’s Game Write-Up Here.
