Saturday, November 7, 2015

Yoik's Expidition Dossier

Helmet styles from the era of the fish eaters war found in Bérnx' tome of armaments. The helm of silver beard will be in one of these styles the suspicion is probably the central one.
Map of antique Onua found by Yoik amongst the ephemera of the archives. (Watercolours by yours truly)

Excerpt from "Brother Adlada's Misspent Youth", a pedantic travelogue: having lost  our hirelings to a pack of deranged cat people and a stew with the unwise ingredient of red sallow we arrived at a wall of herbage. We had not the inclination to follow where the river plunged into what seemed like a tunnel of writhing vines, thorns and bramble. Also large evil looking fish deterred us from rafting upstream. Therefore we payed homage to our ancestors who had died in the sack of Onua and to Silverbeard's memory at the riverbank before we turned our faces west again. But less than a day had past when the twins had a change of heart and returned to follow the river. That was the last ever seen of them, many times I have felt regretful that I did not despise my life and follow them.

Excerpt from "Pólept's Picaresque": After the flight from the Gnome lord's minions we plunged into the dark woods to the west. Tragically my paramour Alb fell between the mat of roots and disappeared into an apparent void below. Not until I had completed playing a dirge upon peasant-reed flute did I finally hear the rapport of his landing in what must have been a subterranean water source. I spent the next fortnight bargaining with the forest demon Ufikanuguinnan for his soul but to no avail.

Excerpt from "Pilgrims' Skin, The annotated guide to the war of religion": ... A certain shrine was allowed to remain for almost 100 years, in the inhospitable forest of Turnwul. This was not a physical temple but a site that one could access if one paid a certain forest witch to be a guide. She could take you along hidden trails through the forest that sees no light and lower you through a hole in the greenery in a bucket on a rope. She would lower the pilgrim down 100 feet and by the light of the torches dropped down the outline of a city could be seen 100 feet lower. The devout would forge their prayers into silver ingots and toss them from the suspend bucket as an obeisance to those who were exalted in death. This practice ceased when a zealous inquisitor from the conclave slew the witch.

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