[Torn
page of an anonymous journal entry written in flowing Common]
Hammer
2, 1450DR
The
Everflame Tavern. An abscess of pretentious wastrels, bleeding hearts
and undignified philandering. I see them all. Beguiled. No amount of
flaying from a cat 'o nine tails could scourge the false sense of
security that coats these tavern patrons so insidiously. Like flies
to faeces it clings to them, nourishes them, comforts them. What
cares, what worries they have in life are washed down with each quaff
from their mind-numbing intoxicants. Temporary absolution.
Sometimes
I catch a glimpse of a patron staring into their drink; its liquid
surface mirroring back their vacuous existence. A mistake to look, a
mistake to remember; remembrance begets sobriety. Can’t have
that happen. As quick as a spell-quickened sword stroke they deplete
the contents of their cup. So predictable, so pedestrian. Bartender!
Their
ill-concealed desperation fills me with contempt. How many still
remember the pain and misery suffered under the tyrannical rule of
Impilturan nobles so long ago? The last fifteen years have been
anything but ruinous for the people of the Obsidian Shore. With a
large number of savage natives assimilated, orc tribes demoralised,
and the Mage Guild destroyed, one would think many a citizen would be
breathing a collective sigh of relief. And If that weren’t
enough, then surely the lull in pirate activity and disappearance of
the Druid’s Circle, self-appointed custodians of the Gray
Forest, would encourage the timid settlements of Stonereach and
Southridge to cultivate much of the unexplored wilderness without
trepidation?
Apparently
not.
They
are not content with the knowledge that the unofficial Thieves Guild
has been exposed and ousted, nor that the King’s Men and King’s
Militia protect the colony better now that they work together under
the leadership of the notoriously eccentric Captain Tallic Vaarcs.
Nevermind that the dwarves of Stoneshield Hall have opened up their
hold once more for trade between the settlements, strengthening our
position in the highlands. No, as always, fear of that which
has not yet been made visible or has yet to be conquered, trumps all.
Yes, many dark and dangerous things still roam the land, as do many
strange and wonderous places, but these perils pale in comparison to
the threat and destruction of politics. Really.
And
what a delightful parting gesture the nobles have bestowed upon us
after their hasty retreat back to Impiltur. A Council has been formed
in their stead, a council comprised of various factions. Merchants
Guild, Farmers Guild and some unknown from the government offices.
Yet it is a Council that is not complete. Two years the King has
given the settlements to come up with filling the remaining two
places on the Council. How gracious of him. Oppress the people for
decades, perpetuate fear of the wild lands beyond, watch factions rip
into one another, and then leave, expecting them to recover from
their ordeal. So vulnerable. I can see the self-righteous religious
martyrs-in-waiting salivating at the opportunity to ensnare the
people in mind-numbing dogma.
Just
which two people will go on to become members of the Council is
anyone’s guess. This
is
what the people of the Obsidian Shore should be afraid of. The quest
for power can be just as corrupting as it is to possess it, and I
have no doubt that the settlements will come to know the price paid
for unbridled ambition. Yet here we are in the Everflame and there
are still people more concerned with what’s out
there
than
what is stirring in the heart of their society. Perhaps they deserve
what’s coming to them. Perhaps it is the....
[writing
stops at the bottom of the page]