Denc Wormington: A return to the depths of Befallen

Befallen has long been a gathering ground for evil, which also means it’s been a gathering ground for adventurers. I wonder what it was initially, on first glance a crypt seems apparent given the undead, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a coffin hereabouts.

 

You can’t get far in Befallen without opening a few locked doors, which usually means getting the key. Fortunately for me, I have no need for such things.

 

 

 

Every nook and corner of this place features either a necromancer or one of their undead servants. The fighting stays to a minimum and the sneaking to a maximum, as for those of us who can’t snap our fingers and appear back at a city, prospects of escape are dismal.

 

Curiously, the zombies in Befallen seem to have fared worse than those out in the world at large.

 

 

 

Strangely plain clothes for a necromancer here. I guess having phantasmal skulls perpetually falling away from your hands makes up for that sort of thing, though. Perhaps I shall leave him a note saying I enjoyed my visit, no time to say hello for now.

 

The residents remain polite and friendly when I do introduce myself however, this fine woman provided me with keys to go deeper when I found to my shame that my lockpicking was too rusty to continue.

 

 

Well, how about that. I’m guessing the Burning Dead won’t invite me back soon, and I might even be off their Frostfell card list, but all things considered the trip was worth taking. For now I long to be back out in the sun or at least the stars.

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue

Denc Wormington: Raid at dawn, and the Oasis of Marr

Retracing my footsteps is hard when so much happened all jumbled together in a short period of time. I’ve decided to stage a raid on the Dervish camps in North Ro, but I’m not yet ready to cross Dorn B’Dynn and his foreign masters.

But there are other camps, and their occupants are well pleased to join me for a relaxing morning by the sea.

We discuss the finer points of weapon maintenance, and practice disarming.

 

 

 

They tire easily, however, so I let them have a much-needed rest.

 

 

 

Talking to the locals about the Oasis of Marr is confusing. The vendor-woman I approached earlier referred to it as ‘in South Ro’, which is strange to be, because South Ro was further south than the Oasis itself. Feeling invigorated by my morning with the Dervishes, I retrieved a second dagger for my use from their belongings and headed down towards Oasis to see things for myself.

Ahh, how refreshing. Although the locals refer to it as South Ro now, the Oasis still seems about as I remember it. Perhaps these things change in the years I have been away.

Starting from the bottom, I find caiman to be an adequate challenge.

Diving into the water to search for more, I swim around for a time before coming to a strange conclusion: There are no crocodiles in the water any longer. Suddenly I wonder if the water has gone poisonous, and immediately exit back to land.

 

I don’t recall exactly what the issue has been between the gypsies and I, but they have never liked me. Perhaps they’ve caught my furtive glances at their wagons full of belongings.. still, it’s quite inconvenient to have to find other vendors sometimes.

 

 

They’ve really built up the beach houses by the dock, and it appears as though they’ve got permanent occupants now as well. How far we’ve come!

 

 

 

The tower at the center of the oasis remains a dreary reminder of evil, with its spectre guardians menacing any who come near. Deathfist orcs patrol in the distance. With this image in mind I guess things have not come so far after all. The sand giants seem to have primarily holed up in the hills, so that’s something.

 

But I came here to train myself fighting the indigenous reptiles, not ponder creatures I cannot defeat. Perhaps someday I will return.

 

 

 

Until then I bid thee farewell, Desert of Ro.

 

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue

Denc Wormington: The Commonlands await

The tunnel is quite refined now, perhaps from the footfalls of all who have come before. Trekking back into the Commonlands, this time to hunt, my mind goes back to the time with Uncle B, operating out of Freeport. I had to run errands to the bank for him, because the Knights of Truth were, in his words, ‘a bunch of racists.’



One way to cure them of their negative perception was, of course, murder. ‘Murder makes the world go ‘round,’ as Uncle B used to say. In this case we would murder Deathfist Orcs.

Under cover of darkness, I crept up to their camp, and loosed an arrow at one of their sentries.

 

 



Unfortunately, things didn’t go quite as planned. Rather than charging off into the darkness to face the threat, he actually alerted the rest of the camp. When did they give orcs brains? Could The Rathe’s curse be lifting?

I made a break for it, regardless.

 

 



After losing the orcs, I ended up near this tower. I recall it being much smaller, and less filled with skulls and circling bats. The same old undead stand guard, with the same old lack of apparent owner for the tower itself.

 

 

 



While seeking a less-well-patrolled orc camp, I came across this young lady. I had remembered the Dervish Cutthroats as being aggressive, but now that I think of it maybe that was only after Uncle B had sicked his spirit wolf on them a few dozen times. I had forgotten that they as a people had a camp here in the Commonlands, but now that I see them it tugs at the edges of my memory..

 



 

Right then. Sorry about that, miss, but it is the way of things. True to form, she had a Cutthroat Insignia ring, dandy.

 

 

 



Back to the business at hand, which is orcs. I managed to break one of the camps finally, and received some enlightening combat practice at the hands of the clumsy orcs.

 

 

 



Through the night and into day, I waged war upon the orcs. Unlike Uncle B, I’ve got nothing to prove to the Knights of Truth or anyone else right now, so no need to make this into an ongoing thing.

 

 

 



In the morning light I found remembrance that bear hunting is grand sport, and their hides can be used at times to make backpacks, of which I have need.

 

 

 

One last thing I found was a Broken Claw Bandit camp. I don’t remember it, but bandits tend to come and go. They didn’t seem to care about my presence, so I guess I’ll leave them to it..



..for killing them could only be construed as a favor.

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue

Denc Wormington, Once, upon the Desert of Ro..

North Ro seems to have been hit with some kind of tidal wave, changing it all from relative flatness to rolling hills. At least the fire beetles here look normal, unlike those I saw in Misty Thicket.



One byproduct of the change is that the greenery extends much further south now. I suppose that’s a good thing, but with these rolling hills everywhere it can be hard to tell exactly where you are.

 

 

 



‘The platform’ is what I remember this place as. Given few other landmarks in this desert, hunters would gather here to rest, fighting giant scarabs, spiders, and undead nearby.

 

 

 



The undead seem a bit more terrifying than I recall. More than once I got a bit too close to the undead ruins, and had to make a break for the East Commonlands tunnel.

 

 

 





After resting until morning, I found Vamenn nearby in the desert. I still carry this lantern around, but I really like day much more than night in places like this. Probably wouldn’t have seen him in the dark.

 

 

 



Vamenn possesses an uncommon brutality for Magicians, or Erudites for that matter. This wanderer started yelling about mirages before the savage beatings began. He won’t be seeing any more mirages, but he did deliver to us some water flasks, always nice in the desert.

 

 

Events rapidly descended into chaos as a rapid slaughter of everything that moved in the platform area picked up momentum. But that’s just fine.. that’s about how I remember it.

Too bad about the hour we spent infected with Rabies, though.

 

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue

Denc Wormington, the road to Freeport part 2

Now that I’m here, looking up the old cliff road into Highpass, I’m not sure I feel like it. It’s not the gnolls really, or the orcs, or any of that. I just don’t want to get lost in the damn pass. Plus all that climbing.. maybe I’ll take the Gorge route.



It’s not a real welcoming place, that’s for sure. On a later trip, we killed Muddites here, and Minotaurs. Today I am only looking for passage.

Fortunately, keeping my head low is a skill of mine.

 

 

 



Clan Runnyeye is still around. I wonder if they still make that crazy hallucination powder.. Uncle B told me to breathe some in because it would make me invisible.. it didn’t, but he had a good laugh anyway. I guess that’s not the sort of thing that makes it into the official history you tell later when all is said and done.

 

 



I crept through all quiet-like, but it didn’t really seem necessary. The goblins weren’t paying a whole lot of attention, just running back and forth doing not much at all. Maybe they do still snort that stuff.

 

 

 



Have I really been gone so long? Misty Thicket seems totally different. Still goblins, wasps, beetles and all that, but the ground, the trees, and especially the damn Wall? Looks like the Halflings got serious. Not serious enough to take off those silly masks, though.

 

At this point, Uncle B disappeared and told me I’d need to make it through Rivervale on my own. Qeynos may have accepted him, but the midgets wouldn’t. I got a free pass, being Human. Curious, that, seeing as I emptied a few pockets on my way through.



Kithicor Forest, at night. Not really the place to be. Unfortunately, I have places to go. A zombie commander chased me halfway to the Commonlands, shouting after me to ‘join him.’ Sorry Ace, no time for tea tonight.

 

 

 



I wonder what’s going on? Does it get worse as I go further East? The Commonlands look nothing like I remember, and it’s too much to call senility. Still, anchoring my sense of reality are some of the usual unsavory types, like Kizdean Gix. It’s good(for me) that I never had some paladin-style chip on my shoulder to piss guys like this off.

 



Whatever’s happening sure built up the entrance to Befallen. Maybe that means the bad guys are winning?

Well, I poke my head in anyway and fight a few skeletons. One has a parrying dagger.. well, maybe I can use that to get some of my strength back in my off-hand. Plague rats remind me that this isn’t a place I want to get deep into right now, so back to the Commonlands.



I found a city where Freeport was. This makes me paranoid as hell, but there are people in it, and I guess they’re not trying to kill me. Whatever did happen, they’ve really stepped up patrols in the city, big swarms of guards everywhere. The Knights of Truth and Freeport Militia still seem to be holding on, despite the whole goddamned city being transmogrified underneath them.

 



Well here’s something. The slums still look and feel like slums. Small comforts. Time to brush off some old contacts and replenish my supply of Short Beers before heading south.

 

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue

Denc Wormington, the road to Freeport

All those years ago, West Karana was often so foggy that you could barely see ten feet ahead of you. Not the best situation when there might be a giant or bandits wandering around. Today it was clear and sunny, a good sign for my trip, or at least a convenient one.



I didn’t want to press my luck, so I headed south to the water’s edge. Easier to follow the water than the poorly-maintained West Karana roads if things get murky.

 

 

 

 



Many creatures call the Karanas home, but I had forgotten how large the spiders could be. I was itching for a fight I guess, so I laid into this giant, twice the size of me. I was feeling good after Blackburrow, figured I was fast enough to avoid his strikes and keep him from pinning me down.

I was right, but after I got warmed up, it started running away. The sport of the moment was gone, so I just let it go.



I came across a bandit camp, but there were too many of them for me to do much about. They didn’t seem to notice me, maybe figured I wasn’t worth the bother. I suppose if I looked at me nowadays I wouldn’t think I was either.

Still, I tried to pick this guy’s pocket as I left their camp. Didn’t wait to see if he noticed.



There’s been a lot of battles out on these plains. I don’t recognize the banner, but I do recognize zombies, skeletons, and ghouls when I see them. I’ll take a pass, today.

 

 

 



Finally I see my halfway mark, as far as the Karanas at least. The old spires.. I heard tell once they were tied into some teleportation network.. I wonder if they ever got it working?

I bet if they ever did, the League of Antonican bards would get it shut down because it encroached on their mail service. That’d be just like politicians.

 



I had planned on swinging down through South Karana to make a stop at Split Paw, the other Gnoll stronghold.. but I got a tip that it got overrun some years back by undead gnolls, and then after that, elementals. Poor bastards.

In all the fog, I had never really noticed how many settlements there are out here in the Karanas. I suppose maybe they weren’t all there before, but either way I had imagined this place as a few isolated farmers and bandits, and then a whole lot of emptiness besides. I don’t mind being wrong.



I suppose it’s not very surprising that this bridge is still here as I remember it. I don’t know how, or I guess who, got those giant chains up there like that, but it seemed to me at the time that it was holding the whole continent together. In the shadow of this bridge seems as good a place as any for a camp.

 

-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue