Another fictional gaming write-up from my character, Gwenn.
We have a little gold in our pockets and horses under our arses, but I fear we may be in more trouble than we can possibly guess.
The vault was unexpected. Dangerous, yes. But not lethal, at least not to us. The creatures that we faced in there were…. Strange. I believe they were the kinds of monsters that nurses scare children with—ghosts and ghouls and boggins. But they were real. They clawed us, and we bled. We fought back, and they died. Again?
The lock on the door was difficult, and a timely lesson on not keeping things from my team. We could have saved several minutes if I’d simply mentioned to Firiel that the door was seeking a member of the House—and that it appeared to have become somewhat myopic in the past 6 centuries.
Whatever intelligence was locked into that device, it has long-since lost who it once was. I pity it, really—I know our world’s magic is difficult and requires sacrifice. But I will never believe in the old ways, where that sacrifice was not always willing. Would I willingly infuse my life into an artifact? Perhaps once, I would have. When Rob was still alive. If he’d married and had children. If I could have known he would carry our name forward into history.
But now? That’s not an option anymore.  When they killed Rob, they killed any future I might have dreamed of. My dreams have changed. To blood, and fire, and the crushing ache in my chest for the joys that might have been mine.
There are nights when I lie awake, wondering how our retainers fare, now that our house is fallen. Some found employment, I’m sure. But what of those who did not have homes and families? House Jader was always good about taking care of our elders and infirm. I shiver awake when I think of old Sir Pyolin, once a brave knight of my father’s, begging for bread and warm soup to sop it in so he can eat it with his toothless gums. Does he even live? Is it better if he did not?
But I ramble. My thoughts are scattered, because I don’t wish to confront the more immediate realities of my responsibilities. We have 525 gold pieces among us, 6 horses, a small assortment of items and gear, and a stack of historical papers of some value, either as blackmail, or simply historical documents.
And one enormous secret.
Should I have kept that secret from my allies? Would they be safer not knowing? What is the god of secrets going to do to those who have stumbled onto the secret of his very origins? I cannot think he will simply ignore it, once he knows. And… he will know.
We’ve already agreed that sharing information, at least about Ilyria, is the best course of action. I’ll get to the temple of Ioun as soon as we’re in Psarios again, and sell these documents to Sir Carrigan. And then, I’ll talk to him about the bards, beloved keepers of lore and speaker of tales. We must get the bards on our side, to spread the word about Ilyria. I’ll ask Sir Carrigan his opinion of whether to spread the knowledge about Vecna Medarr’s mortal identity. I do not believe we will ever be able to cover this up, however.
As for House Volant’s old debts, I’m keeping those papers for now.
Our next step is to take out the patrol in the cove. I chose them first so we can make sure we’re up to the task, and hopefully to learn more from them about the two units on the road. I’d like to take them  second—the miserable patrol in the marsh is going to have a hard enough time maneuvering. They won’t be able to get out by sea the way the ones at the cove might, and if we disrupt the road travel, they’ll be stuck where they are a little longer.
I spoke the name of my home today. Kindel. I am not ready for you. I am not worthy. Not yet.