For going on four years now I have been
writing and posting the supposedly-weekly and increasingly
idiosyncratic news report for players and spectators of the eponymous
campaign to the Hill Cantons google plus page. Having written about how to use campaign news as continuity glue for a long-running campaign and having the blog slip way down the
list of my hobby-writing priorities--and thus in need of some
love—the news reports will now be appearing right here in the
future.
And now the News...
Hinek the Aft, notable local
lunatic and mariner, has been recounting wild tales of a supposed
landing in the fabled Misty Isles by his patroness and captain
the so-called Daughter of Ondrej. Bizarrely his first day of
yarn-spinning in the Marlinko bathhouses told of a stark, dead land
with “ridges made from the corpses of massive grubs”-- a story
quite at odds with the popular conception of the eternally
fog-shrouded islands as a bucolic paradise. Even stranger is his
apparent self-beating over the night and subsequent retelling of the
story in a broken monotone: “The...Misty Isles...are...a...wondrous
place filled...with...laughter and light...and that I have...never
visited nor can I speak with assurance..from a first-hand account.”
The recent opening of the
gaily-painted, if disturbingly and atavistically pagan High Temple
to All-Pahr Gods has brought in a influx of curious tourists and
dour, bearded faithful to the Feral Shore. When clicked on, the
colony steward, Okko, claims that nearly 900 gold suns have been
brought in from sales of bric brac such as Svat the Four-Faced carved
wooden posts, Marzana garlic wreaths and Radagast painted beer steins
in the first two weeks alone.
But income from schlock is not the only
thing the new Temple has brought in, the dedication has also brought
along two new inhabitants both claiming to have been brought by
visions sent from dying Pahr godlings.
The first of which is the strangest, a
bass-toned skald with the head of an enormous red rooster by the name
of Vyvod. Though an odd sight, residents of Karldeset and the
Domovoy villages, have warmed to his deep, catchy, self-valorizing
ballads and quite often one can hear on the winds the opening verses
from his most popular tune:
“Little Pavol and Vyvod
strutt-ing through the for-est
Never evere dreamin' that a schemin'
deodand and his posse
Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around.”
Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around.”
The rooster bard's appearance was
followed the next day by a grizzled, long-bearded, wearing the
antiquated heavy armor that scholars call chainmail and looking to
all the world like he stepped out of a Pahr-themed historical
tapestry. Captain Slavomil as he calls himself is said to have
been touched in the head by a command from the long-thought dead god
Velesh to throw his axe into a local lake, seek the blessing of the
Lords of the Shore and begin to organize a warband for a long journey
around the southlands cape to conquer the City of Porcelain, a
distant, fabled, demon-haunted city of great delicacy.
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