Jade Regent: Forest of Spirits

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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There goes lunch.

He didn’t know it would be so bloody. Oberon knew that sounded foolish. They had come out here to collect a bounty on goblins. He knew they would have to kill goblins. He had just assumed that Braedo would do the killing. Or maybe that savage, Ostog. He would just be along for the ride. Help track down the little beasts. Maybe patch someone up if it got rough. Call down the blessings of Desna in a pinch. But this . . . this had been horrific.
The tengu looked around the silent village. Braedo stood to one side, cleaning his chakram on his cloak. Ostog didn’t even have the decency to do that. He appeared to be sniffing around the various corpses, looking for valuables. The townsman Tichborne was staring off into space.
The goblin dead lay strewn around the clearing near the gate in various states of mutilation. The skald had split one of the little green maniacs from head to toe and then cleaved another in two. Its legs had twitched for what seemed like minutes even after separated from its upper half.
At Oberon’s feet lay the remains of one of the goblins he himself had killed. He had pierced it through the eye with his spear. It had happened so fast. When they had fought the weird fake halfling, he had stood in the back. It was over so quickly he hadn’t even had time to react. When they fought the Soggy River Monster, he had just been trying to not get murdered by the thing. But this . . . this . . .
Oberon leaned his head over the pig pit and began to vomit loudly.

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He Shared His Culture

He Shared His Culture

He lifted his axe up high and shouted to Gorum,
“Take this false faced coward to the bowels of Hell!”
And it reeled, but could not touch him,
And it squealed. He showed it no mercy.

The Owlman saw it first,
The Birdman stepped back,
The Wizard threw a ranged fist,
And The Skald shared his culture.

The Warden of the Swamp,
Took refuge in his shed,
He opened his door,
When the false faced one bled.

And lay out his reward,
A cloak radiating a spark,
The Owlman won it fair,
And with honor gave it to The Birdman to share.

The creature of legend,
Was creeping the swamp,
The Soggy River Monster,
It moved to attack.

The Birdman saw it first,
The Owlman stepped up,
The Wizard threw a ranged fist,
And The Skald shared his culture.

The goblins they swarmed,
Out of holes and doors they poured,
From up high the came down,
And below they were found.

The Owlman sliced with his chakrum,
The Birdman blessed from his god,
The Wizard let out a crippling blast,
And The Skald shared his culture.

He hefted his spear,
And pierced the goblin’s flesh.
The creature it howled,
And then there was silence.

The Birdman threw up a lunch made of slugs,
The Wizard he wrote a story of his own,
The Owlman he searched for tools he may use,
And The Skald shouted praise to Gorum as he shared his culture.

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Strange Fire

How can you be numb and burning at the same time? Kade didn’t know. One of many questions that he didn’t know the answer to. But he was. Numb. And burning. Not knowing which one was worse – or maybe it was the ignorance itself that was the worst.

He first truly noticed the numbness when he saw Oberon vomiting up the slugs into the pig pit. It was easy to guess what had upset the tengu. Blood was everywhere. Teeth, too. One of the goblins had lost half a mandible when he tried to backflip off the parapet and ended up falling on his face. His fellows had laughed at him, even in battle.

At least they were feeling something. The goblins’ laughter, the tengu’s disgust. Braedo, too, and Ostog, each in their own way felt something about the battle. A desire for trophies, the hunt for glory in song. Kade was just numb. He hadn’t felt much at all in a long time, not since Tessa was turned.

Ok, that was the worst. Not the ignorance, not the numbness itself, but the fear that someday soon he would be numb about Tessa. That he would look at the scorpion, or feel it scuttle along his neck, and not burn in anger, not burn for the memory of how her fingers once touched him in that same spot on his neck, how she encouraged him in everything he did. How she never let him give up. Never let him get numb.

For now, he still burned. The anger was there. He was numb to everything else, but he stoked his anger and burned.

He turned back toward the parapet. His color spray had stunned half of the goblins into unconsciousness. Now they were beginning to stir. They would have what he sought: answers. Knowledge. About this swamp, surely, but maybe about more. Maybe about the monster who turned Tessalyn. Maybe about the monster’s mysterious master.

He stepped toward the goblins. They mewled. He was numb to that. He didn’t know which the goblins feared more, or which they should fear more, his numbness or his fire. He didn’t really care.

It was time for answers.

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Notches

Hunts-like-Owl and Ostog were sitting together on the edge of the goblin platform with their feat dangling in the air. Hunts-like-Owl was cleaning the blood off of his chakrum and klar. Ostog was wiping down, and sharpening his notched battle axe.

“Those are some interesting choice of weapons, Hunts-like-Owl.” Ostog stated. “The klar I recognize as a weapon of your people. Usually I see it paired with a giant hammer. But those rings I’ve only seen used by you.”

Hunts-like-Owl took a slow breath. “These too are a weapon of my people. I am of the Lyrune-Quah, which translates to Moon Clan in Taldane. The shape of the chakram represents The Moon up high. See it?” Hunts-like-Owl then pointed towards the waxing celestial body, high overhead.

“Ah, I see. beautiful weapon it is,” Ostog frowned and looked at his notched, nicked, scarred, and weathered battle axe that he was trying to polish.

“And your axe,” Hunts-like-Owl queried. “Are you to add more of those hash-marks to represent your kills today?”

The half-orc silently stared at his axe for several moments before answering. “Nah. Goblins are vermin. Pests to be exterminated. Not worth thinking about after they are put down. Besides, only a savage keeps track of his kills.”

“So what do the notches represent?”

Ostog looked Hunts-like-Owl in the eyes and raised a mischievous eyebrow, his half-orc features almost taking on an attractive quality. “Kills.”

Hunts-like-Owl scrunched his forehead.

“Humans. I took this axe from an orc of a tribe that infiltrated our lands from the Land of Winter whom we were fighting years ago. I believe this,” Ostog indicated an area below the last notch on his axe, “would have been me had I been a little slower. That orc was my first kill. It’s the one I will always remember. This axe nearly split my face in two, see this scar?” Ostog brushed back some of the hair that was obscuring the side of his face, revealing a long, thick scar that ran from just over his left eye back to past his ear, the point of which was missing.

Ostog then drew his short sword and handed it to the Shoanti ranger. “I killed him with this. See? No notches.”

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It was time

The elven women had mentioned this, long ago, but Jaalek had not forgotten. A debt was owed, and a debt would be repaid. She wished to head north, far north. There would be danger, and for that, Shalelu would need strength and steel.

It was time, and Jaalek gathered what things he could use from the camp he had constructed for himself. His lean-to would be missed, it was solidly built and finally water-tight. He reached for his horned helmet and his axes. These, at least, would come with.

Grabbing the rest of his gear, Jaalek began walking. The elf was skilled at woodcraft, and would spot him before he saw her, as she had so many times before. Those wide blue eyes saw much, but the elf said far less, and that suited Jaalek. There were things he did not wish to remember.

But the destruction of his people, the destruction of his clan at the hands of demons? That he did remember. That, he could not forget. And now? Now it was time.

Under his heavy metal helm, Jaalek smiled.

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The Hunt Begins
a response to Notches

Braedo Hunts-like-Owl shifted to face Ostog, taking a long moment to examine the half-orc. He’d seen Ostog Kildragon before in one or another tavern around Sandpoint in the past year, listened to his performances. He hadn’t known Ostog though, they hadn’t been introduced or crossed paths. Still he could see that he might come to like the scarred half-orc. Braedo was mildly fascinated at how the skald’s features could change so quickly, one moment fierce and intimidating favoring his orc blood then just as quickly becoming more human and engaging the next.

Braedo had never been that concerned with social opinion whether that came from being raised by Varisians on the road or having been an outsider for so much of his life in Sandpoint. Doubtless the opinions of some of the locals regarding a troublemaking Shoanti wild boy couldn’t have been very different from what was said about tengu, Varisians or orcish half-breeds, or about other reasons for that matter, and Braego had decided long ago to ignore what most people thought much less said about anyone.

It had been a year since his return and he had found everything different. Sandru hadn’t returned from the trade routes since Braedo had returned. Koya had been happy for her son to return alive and obviously more at peace with himself but after the initial elation Mother Niska’s waning health became Koya’s focus. Braedo kept food on the table and generated money for medicines but things were strained in the manor. Koya missed the road and Mother Niska had been a cantankerous woman while she faded away so tensions were high. As of late Braedo was missing the open road as much as his mother and while he wasn’t nearly as much of a troublemaker as he had been Braedo wasn’t one to shy from a brawl, a revel or a bet. When he did leave town he might have gone hunting and ranging in the Tickwood or the Ravenroosts but he hadn’t been away from Sandpoint long and both sides of Braedo Hunts-like-Owl had grown bored and frustrated. When the conversation in the Rusty Dragon had turned to scouting the Brinestump Marsh and hunting goblin ears for bounty Hunts-like-Owl was eager to join. Now here he was picking goblin flesh from the nooks of his klar and he was happy and content.

Braedo looked at the callouses and scars on his right hand amazed that it wasn’t a bloody mess. Oberon really had learned his lessons from Koya and become powerful in his faith in Desna. Braedo’s childhood friend would be a great boon searching the marsh and it was good to range with him again. They had often camped out together to wait for tempers to cool or escape the sheriff’s attention and this brought those memories back for Braedo.

The sorcerer Tichborne was powerful too but Braedo didn’t readily trust magic-users generally as much because of the Shoanti people’s traditions as for a painful experience involving a possessive enchanter lover in Kaer Maga a while ago. Also the mage talked to his scorpion familiar a bit too familiarly. It was bad enough that the scorpion was a dangerous and untrustworthy totem but to get that friendly seemed questionable.

Then there was this Ulfan half-orc, Ostog. He was an impressive warrior and Hunts-like-Owl respected that he had stolen the power of the orc who had tried to kill him by taking the axe. Braedo also half wondered how interested in a romp the skald might be. He wouldn’t mind seeing how vocal Ostog could get in a more intimate battle which made Braedo chuckle as he lazily spun a chak on his finger.

“Yes. These are a weapon of my people given how they reflect Iyon, the Great Moon, but they are very rare. These three,” Braedo pulled three blackened battered knicked chak from the pile in their holder “were my father’s. They were his father’s and his father’s before him. I remember my father telling a story of a great vision quest a father’s father made to a faraway place only to return with weapons such as these. Since, I have seen them one other time amongst the Lyrune-Quah. They are not favored. As you can see they can be as dangerous to the wielder as the target but they carry my father’s spirit so I accept the pain and blood.”

“You wield the axe with power. It was wise for you to subvert the orc’s power to yourself. I have seen you in the Rusty Dragon before. I wouldn’t have thought a performer such as you would need the money from goblin bounties. What else brings you into the marsh; the sheer excitement of the hunt? I have heard that Ulfen warriors take as much pleasure in the hunt as in the victory. Certainly the songs you have sung and the lays that you have recited speak as much about the pursuit as they do the conquest.”

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Humble Beginnings

While his comrades chatted, Oberon wandered among the goblin structures, making quick sketches in his journal. Damn, these creatures were foul! He stepped over another goblin corpse, clucking in discomfort. He hoped that Braedo would take the ears. He had enough of this for one day.
Koya was always telling him to seek out new places . . . that the Starsoul could be found in each new footstep. She said that places where no Desnan had ever been before were especially blessed. He glanced around the filth-smeared “throne room” of King Gutwad. He doubted any of the faithful had ever been here before, and yet he couldn’t believe that the Goddess could be found in this horrible dump. In his dreams, he was always going to exciting new places. Mountains covered in the purest white snow. Vast caverns miles below the surface. Ancient forests where the trees reach the sky. He didn’t remember ever dreaming about wading around in a disgusting mud pit filled with goblin corpses.
I guess I just have to have faith, Oberon thought. He put his writing materials away in his pack and pulled out a piece of charcoal. Carefully he began to sketch the butterfly symbol on the back of the goblin king’s “throne.”

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Morning Prayers

Oberon sat cross-legged on the rickety walkways of the Licktoad encampment. The silence from the room behind him told him that his companions slept soundly.
The sounds of the woods around him hummed. There was a hint of dawn’s light in the eastern sky, but the tengu could still see the stars above him. He was pleased with his choice to take the morning watch. It gave him time to reflect on his dreams and to pray to Lady Starsong. After a blessed night’s sleep, the horror and fear of yesterday’s bloodbath had left him, and now he felt calm and peaceful
Last night the Goddess had sent him a strange dream. Upon his waking, it had faded quickly, but Oberon had been able to jot down two images in his dream journal. He remembered a dark cave from which emanated a sense of palpable malice and an armored skeleton sitting slouched in a chair. The tengu had no idea what these images meant, but he trusted that the Great Dreamer would reveal her intentions in time.
The morning birds began to sing as the sun broke the horizon. As the sky turned from black to purple, Oberon took a deep breath and began to softly chant the morning prayers from the Eight Scrolls, the one’s Koya had taught him when he was just a chick. Today would be another interesting day, he thought. Praise be to Desna.

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Making music

“Son of a bitch!” Ostog grumbled when he saw the oddly dressed bones animate. I’ve heard of the dead coming to life, but to see it! He glared at the bones as they assembled into the semblance of a warrior, then looked to his new friends.

The wizard, Kade, was quick to act as usual with one of his force punches. That seems to have worked.

Braedo moved in to engage one with that shield made of a skull. He’s not new to battle.

The barbarian, Jaalek from what he has heard, smashed one to bits with the giant axe of his. Yeah, he’ll do fine.

Ostog decided to draw a club for this engagement. I can see my blade doing nothing to those bones. One more skeleton went down.

But the star of this show, appropriate being as he is a disciple of the Star-Goddess herself, was the crowman named Oberon. With a prayer to Desna, starlight washed over the skeletons, crumbling them into the dust that should have taken them long ago. He let out a “Ka-kaw!”

“Good show my man!” Ostog congratulated the Tengu. “Hey I’ll check out down this way before your light fowls it up.” He made his way farther down the cavern while Braedo skirted the edge with his chakrum at the ready when they triggered it.

Ostog whistled as the skeleton with the more ornate armor and the masterfully crafted sword took form. He shouted over his shoulder, “this looks like a tough one boys. Time to make music!”

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