Journal of Lady Shal

[Prometheus]

Journal of Lady Shal (XX Month, XX Day)

The thought of my brother fighting that ... thing .. that was once Lord Blackthorn is an unsettling thought.

[Three weeks prior]

Prometheus emerged from the dark cave. After the pitch black, the bright sunlight was almost unbearble. He squinted into the distance, his eyes adujusting to the sudden brightness. To the northwest, he could see the small grasslands where the ridgebacks roamed. Shal often went there to practice her animal taming skills.  To the south was the swampy lands of the savages, the very same ones who had invaded Britannia and waged war against the orcs.  And to the west, towering over the rest of the landscape was the stronghold of Lord Blackthorn.

Even at a distance, the size of the structure was easily discerned.  Promtheus pulled out a small pair of spectacles, small lenses of his own making that magnified objects much like a telescope, only smaller and not quite as powerful.  But even the small power was enough to make out the roaming watch guards: golems.  Deadly mechanical constructs powered by clockwork and arcane crystals.  Their mighty fists were capable of punching through even the strongest platemail, and often knocked riders clean off their horses.  

Fortunately for Prometheus, his mission parameters stated to maintain as much stealth as possible.  A full frontal assault would surly draw too much attention, and the numerous golems lumbering about would be too much for even a Grandmaster Mage to handle.  

Promtheus opened his pack, searching for the special tool Borg had included in the scroll. It was a vial so small it almost went unnoticed.  Promtheus had carefully tucked it into the pouch along with his potions, not wanting it to shatter. As he fished it out, his hand passed over something strange. A communication crystal.

Alarm shot through him. Who had put this here? Borg? Charsi? Fing? Shal? The enemy?  Prometheus was tempted to speak to the crystal, if only to see if there was a response, but decided agaisnt it. Whoever had put this here obviously did not want it to be found. Taking no chances, Prometheus tossed the crystal behind a small bush near the mouth of the cave.

"Blast it," he muttered once out of range of the crystal. "I've been too careless."

He opened the vial and dipped his fingertips into it. The liquid was made of special berries, cultivated from this very same area. The savages used it as a crude paint, and that is exactly what Borg had given him.  The savages were not known for their intelligence, and simply wearing the paint was enough for normal Britannians to walk among them undetected.   Prometheus applied the paint to his body, having to shed his armor in the process. He dreaded leaving it behind, but it was essential, as most savages walked around with little more than loincloths, much less full battle armor.  As a finishing touch, he pulled out a blood red mask, the same shade his his hair, to complete the look. The carefully tucked his ponytail under the mask, not wanting his unsual hair be a giveaway to the savages.

Unfortunately, his large vocabulary would also be a dead giveaway as most of the savages, save for the mystical shamans, were barely able to speak.  After the paint was finished drying, Prometheus tucked his armor behind a bush, took a deep breath, and began walking south.  As he approached the swamp, the smell grew stronger. Decay, rot, and filth ran rampant through this area.  It was surprising that the savages were able to irk out an existence in this miserable location.  As he trudged through the swamp, the muck squishing between his toes, he soon made out the stout, wooden walls of the savages fort village.  Spearman walked in irregular patrols around the perimter, fighting off the swamp creatures.  Farther out, riders on ridgebacks speared alligators and hauled their carcasses back to the village for cooking and consumption.  It was a crude culture, but a culture nonetheless.

As Prometheus strode up to the village, the spear toting guards barely even acknowledged him.

'They must see alot of men and women come and go, living like this,' Prometheus thought. 'They probably think I'm a long lost cousin or something.'

In his mind, he reviewed the Intelligence message Borg had given him: "Our intelligence sources tell us there is a hidden path to Blackthorns castle somewhere inside the village of the savages. We are not sure where this path is, or what form it takes, but we are certain it exists."

The first part of his mission was to seek out this path.  If this path could be found, if it did indeed exist, could provide the Imperial Legion an excellent way to launch a sneak attack on Blackthorns forces.  Unfortunately, Prometheus wasn't even sure where to began.  Logic would dictate that if this path existed, it would be heavily guarded by the savages.  

He slipped into the village, quickly scanning the area for any telltale signs.  Several crude straw huts were scattered haphazardly around. Any one of them could house the passage.  As he stood there contemplating, suddenly he noticed it had gone quiet in the village.  He whirled around.  All the savages who were previously inside the grass walls were suddenly gone.  In the distance, he heard shrieking and whoops, and the clang of metal.  Apparently, the savages were enganged in some kind of battle.

"Perfect timing" he said aloud, and quickly ducked into the nearest hut to begin his search.