Timeline

This journal chronicles the life and times of Tim’sutul the Genasi Swordmage,

For Greenlake!

 

Adventuring with Initiatives Unlimited, LLC

• Charging Into The Chaos
• Abandoned Arctic Arboretum
• Ice-bound
• Onward from Ironwale

Childhood

• Age 7, Last Earthday of Harvester

Charging Into The Chaos

We arose bright and early. Shamash and Ur apparently did not sleep well during the night. As we exited the tavern, a mole burrowed out of the ground. It looked around, and then promptly transforms into Ur’s friend Briar. Briar walks over to Ur.

Ur and Briar conversed about our journey ahead of us. Briar warned us of the dangers of the Elemental Chaos, mentioning that his own journey there changed him as a person. While they were talking, Briar reaches into an inter-dimensional space and retrieves a grapefruit sized charm. It was a seed from the feywild, that we may be able to use during barter to arrange passage back.

Briar then transformed into a butterfly, of all things, and headed away.

We decided to use Ironwale’s portal ring to make our departure from. I knew it would aide greatly in the ritual, saving me many hours of work. Dresorth explained to the guards nearby that we were working to depart. They probably had never seen a mage build a portal from here before. I spent the better part of an hour drawing over-top the stone-lain runes with my magical chalks. Ur spoke with spirits for guidance, because we wanted to make sure we got this right. Towards the end of the ritual, I lay the bristlecone in the center of the rune circle and began chanting. A great wind blew. Nature itself seemed to lean in as I instructed it to tear itself open and allow us passage to beyond its bounds. Lightning began reaching down from the sky to the bristlecone, ignoring the spires of the buildings nearby. Then a great bolt of lightning struck, and a portal opened before us.

The portal was terrifyingly chaotic, even to my arcana-forged experience. It had energy tendrils that reached around it, as if infecting the very fabric of space-time around it. The black bristlecone, now charred and spent, blew away from the portal to my feet. At this point I noticed Tazi and Dresorth were both arguing with the guards, and some money was being exchanged. I beckoned for them, and as a party, we departed, with me bringing up the rear.

After what felt like a good deal of time, we emerged from the other end of the portal. We were weak from the traumatic passage through the portal, with no memory nor concept of exactly how much time had passed. We found ourselves in a cavern hewn of a glowing red stone. The air was empty of scent, and the rock formations defined all logic. Nearby the cavern tapered to a 10-foot opening, standing in which was a Slaad. We had definitely arrived on the right plane, for sure. The Slaad, unsurprisingly distant from reality, could not successfully communicate with us. After several failed attempts, the Slaad let out a long croak which seemed to make younger Slaads emerge forth from the very walls themselves. For the first time ever, we weren’t just fighting for survival, but also for sanity.

The creatures we fought were like nothing we’ve ever seen before. Tadpoles that would phase slightly in and out of existence, they would randomly have weaknesses to different elements. Which came in handy. I derived great pleasure from using my mind to grab parts of the terrain and hurl it at my enemies in the form of various elements. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so deadly in combat. When we had slain them, (all the while the adult Slaad remaining inert), the main opening they had emerged from began to close. We darted through the opening and reached the outside of the mass we were on. The rock we were on was, unsurprisingly, hurtling through the void. There were a great number of inexplicable things in the sky – rivers floating in midair for no reason, liquid lighting, etc. Common sense was defied, but I knew better.

The rock we were on was floating towards a series of rocks that were interconnected by bridges of smoke. The bridges were being traveled, as far as eyes could see, by the Brazen Bazaar. When our rock got near, there was a dead stop. I proceeded to manipulate the terrain around me to create a bridge to the nearest rock, which we then proceeded to cross.

As we traversed the new rock we were on, we found an area dense with other sentient beings, hustling about between tents. We entered a tent, which as we entered, seemed to expand to contain much more than its outward volume would suggest. I was surrounded by various elemental creatures, of all types, from various walks of life, going about a number of mundane activities. Despite the fact that it felt like a carnival of natures most extreme creations, for the first time ever, I fit in.

After exploring inside the large tent for a brief time, we ran into a slaver with some “goods” for sale. This was not something we were used to seeing on our own plane. (Most societies forbid such trafficking.) Surprisingly the slave trader, (a being by the name of Ibre), had a dwarf in “stock”. The dwarf was Marsh, undoubtedly purposefully deposited here by my brother.

We attempted to haggle with Ibre, but he would not take our gold. His ability to manipulate this plane was sufficient that gold was meaningless to him, as he demonstrated by phasing part of his merchant’s table into gold. He explained that his particular set of goods could only be bought with ‘arcane crystals’. One arcane crystal, for one slave.

The only source of arcane crystals, in these parts, is Hak Karlum. Hak Karlum is apparently an ancient fortress, inhabited namely by giants, set atop a site suitable for mining valuable gems - arcane crystals included. We exchanged a large sum of gold with a livery merchant, and departed for Hak Karlum via chauffeured Chaos Glider.

My instincts tell me that my brother Frer’solund is well aware of the situation, orchestrating that we would arrive at Hak Karlum. I know that either he or his doings will be awaiting us when we arrive.,,

Abandoned Arctic Arboretum

After defeating the dragon and collecting the spoils of battle, we decided to rest in the abandoned boat. With the ice storm outside, and us being rather weary from the day’s travels, it was much needed. The following morning we summoned horses, took our bearings, and rode north.

After an hour of riding we found a spot in the snow where there had been an obvious scuffle. With blood on the ground, the smell of burnt hair in the air, and much disturbed snow, we noticed there were no footprints leading to or from the spot. We found a bloody bit of garment, which I realized I could give us some information, using a ritual I had recently learned. Three images came to me.

The first image that came to me, was one of a busted-up haggard dwarf riding a phantom steed that was flying throw the air. The dwarf was throwing a rock at my brother that was on another steed.

The second image that came to me was of them wrestling on the ground, with the dwarf (Marsh) tearing at my brothers clothes.

The third image was of Marsh holding the scrap of clothing in his hands, as my brother lit him on fire with a barrage of magic.

Marsh’s fate was unclear, so we mounted up and rode on. After riding for another 2 or 3 hours, we arrive at what we believe to be our destination. Without seeing any people, we catch site of an obelisk sticking out of the tundra. As we approach, we realize it is surrounded by a translucent layer of ice instead of snowy tundra. The obelisk is covered in magic runes.

Hoping for more information, I cast the Object Reading ritual again.

The first image was obviously from long ago, with the obelisk sitting there in the ice, not doing anything.

The second image, through which the terrain made obvious that hundreds of years had passed, with the obelisk still unattended and unused.

The third image was still more time passed, the obelisk standing alone in the wasteland around us.

Finally, the fourth image showed something useful. A young Genasi, hard to identify, was grabbing hold of the obelisk, with fire coming out of his body, and steam rising from the ice.

And a fifth image, once again a Genasi, (this time obviously my brother), fire coming out of his body, with Marsh laying battered on the ground next to him.

After much consideration, I used a barrage of flame attacks to activate the pillar and melt a tunnel to a chamber that lay below. When we reached the bottom, we descended from the opening 20 feet to the floor below, finding ourselves in a long-abandoned magical greenhouse. Dim light was being provided by a nearly drained magical stone, which illuminated a large layout of planters filled with long-dead plants. At the far end of the chamber we saw a withered bristlecone tree. We were going to make our way towards it when Dresorth fiddled with some dead plants and activated some sort of security system. We were immediately attacked by previously inanimate statues.

After battling and defeating the statues, we took a closer look at the tree. The tree had been dead for somewhere around the neighborhood of 500 years. As we took further note of our surroundings, we knew the greenhouse itself was at least 1000 years old. My brother, as vandalous as a street ruffian, left an arcane message on the trunk of the dead tree. “Looks like there is only one left. Maybe you can come back another ttime…”

He was correct, of course. A lone black bristlecone hung from the long-dead tree. His repeat of the consonant at the beginning of the word ‘time’ was rather disturbing to me. From prolonged study of his journal, I knew this was his way of quietly embedding further information. It was disturbing because I felt as if he knew… knew ideas of mine that I dare not share with my closest friends… and was taunting me.

Bothered by the possibility of a one-way trip to the Elemental Chaos ahead of us, and knowing we were ill-equipped, we voted to return to Ironwale. I took extra time to calculate portal differentials so that if we decide to make a planar portal from Ironwale, it shouldn’t offset the result as if we had portaled from this abandoned greenhouse. I was quite proud of my calculations, and I’m sure they’ll be faithful to us.

We geared up thoroughly. But mentally, we were unprepared for the decision ahead of us. The Elemental Chaos may kill my companions. It is unforgiving.

There were wrongs to be righted, though, so thus must be us. Unforgiving.

Ice-bound

After short discussion, we decided to part ways with Eamon and his airship. We could not expect them to fly deeper into the dragon’s territory, and they weren’t willing to let us give them a quick escape via portal. I hope Eamon and his financiers realize what hard times we are in, and take more caution the next time they fly the Heart of the Mountain commercially.

I summoned some phantom steeds and we departed immediately. It was just before noon. A little after noon, we started to get a little nervous as we knew bad weather was on the way. Shortly after being alarmed at the inbound weather, we noticed momma dragon in pursuit of us. (At least she didn’t follow the airship.) We spotted a rocky crevasse ahead that we began darting for, and we realized a stampede of elk close behind us had the same idea.

As we fled towards the crevice, we new we needed to cross it completely in order to avoid the approaching herd of elk. There was some fussing with some rope. In the excitement I was silly enough to try jumping across the crevice. As I failed to make the distance, I landed in the crevice. As I began to attempt to climb out, with the chill of the air nipping at my nose, I fell again. Whilst my companions more or less made it safely across, I was suddenly the landing destination for a downpour of elk. I was quickly literally buried in elk, having fallen to their doom.

The dragon abated its attack and after carefully getting out of the crevice, we made for rocky caves we saw ahead. After a couple hours of riding, we arrived at the cave. After we had been inside for a couple minutes, the dragon showed up again. We retreated into the cave. We passed through an opening, after which we began knocking loose stalactites to block the dragons passage. The dragon began gnashing at the icy rock wall we had created. We calmly proceeded deeper into the caves.

We emerged into a large cavern. We became aware that most of the ground beneath us was actually frozen water. We came to this realization after noticing a sea-faring vessel upended, partially in and partially out of the ice. The boat was named “Her Only Mane”, and appeared to be of Goliath origins. We took a few supplies from the boat, finding no remains of the crew, and took little notice of a broken ballista frozen and mounted on the boat.

We proceed out of the cavern with the boat into a larger cavern. We noticed some scavenger insets on the wall just before spotting dragon eggs. Some recently hatched, most still biding their time. This particular cavern had a ceiling opening, far above us, revealing the sky behind. At was at this moment that we realized the mother dragon was no longer trying to smash he way through that wall we made.

Dresorth then frees a dragon egg from the ground below to hold hostage, as Tazi climbed onto an ice plateau that dominated the room. Tazi immediately notices a small treasure horde and the skulls of Goliaths, undoubtedly the ones that had manned the boat. I climbed up onto the plateau to assist Tazi in collecting the giant coins we found there, knowing that if we were going to make a run for it, it would be soon. The mother dragon immediately arrived from above, roaring in all of her fury. I attempted to dissuade the dragon’s aggression by pointing out that we held one of its offspring hostage, but she was not stifled. In response, Dresorth attempted to draw the attention of her anger by destroying the egg he held. It worked.

As the rest of the troupe fought the dragon, I ran into the previous cavern and got the ballista into working order. It took considerable effort. We knew that we had little chance of felling the dragon without it. After my repairs were complete, I called for help and Tazi arrived and assisted in repositioning the ballista.

The rest of the party soon followed, along with the dragon. Tazi manned the the ballista as the rest of us collected in the opening between the boat’s cavern and the dragon’s primary nesting chamber. We distracted the dragon long enough for Tazi to pull off the shot. Between the ballista hit and the point of our blades, the dragon was soon slain.

Afterwards, we destroyed the remaining eggs, and collected every bit of booty from atop the ice plateau. Tired from our works, we rested in the cavern that night. We rested well.

Onward from Ironwale

After struggling to get some cold weather gear, my companions and I may be ready to depart for the far north. Tazi and Urr have once again succeeded in casting a ritual to curse and slow the travels of my insane brother Frer’solund.

Between fiddling with that planar portal this afternoon in the dungeons of the library, and after studying some books in my possession for the last couple of weeks, I feel like I’ve had a small personal breakthrough in my understanding of Arcana. Arcane rituals had never suited me in my studies in the past, due to the impracticality in battle. But I’ve gone ahead and invested some of the troupe’s money into some rituals that will serve me and my companions well. We may be planning to go to the north by Captain Eamon Leafshank’s zeppelin, but I do believe we will be returning by way of portal. In my goal to be master of magic, I feel like I am finally getting on the right path.

When we got to The Mountain’s Heart zeppelin the next morning, Dodd Whitewood was all geared up to navigate. Eamon really knows how to pick his crew. Dodd has got a bird on his shoulder, which made my companions and I chuckle. Dresorth seems concerned about whether or not the zeppelin is in good working order, (considering the work we did on it yesterday), but after a quick inspection he seemed satisfied. (I’m not sure Dresorth knows what he is talking about. Poor thing isn’t very bright.)

Right at departure, for some reason Eamon abandoned the helm to go below deck, but then returned with a giant keg – and then proceeded to christen the vessel with it. It was awkward, but I guess a necessary ritual, for the maiden voyage. Eamon seemed bothered by Tazi’s reaction to grab the wheel, but personally I would be happy not to see this rickety craft’s steering abandoned. Dresorth promises good weather, but I’m not sure his predictions are good for more than 50 or 60 miles out. I doubt very many non-winged creatures are good at predicting continental weather patterns.

We got a quick tour of the zeppelin. Evidence of frugality surrounds us. As every step passes by, I worry a little more about whether or not we’ll reach our destination safely – though the point may be moot when we get there. We are no match for Frer’solund, but he has Urr’s friend brother Marsh MacReady, and we owe it our best to try to rescue him. As Urr napped in order to ready another curse upon by distant brother, and Shamash dozed in public, I took the time to meditate in the breeze at the front of the ship. There is one thing about the sky that I knew to expect: it has its way of being peaceful, and I wish it would last. But in these times, I knew it couldn’t.

The next day, we were well over wintry lands. We passed over an icy forest. Needless to say, the air was chilly and we were well wrapped. The crew on the other hand was not as well prepared, and they were not happy to repay their debt to us in this way. Dresorth went around and tucked everyone’s pants into their stockings, and they seemed a little grateful – I guess common sense has its uses. The boat rocks a little in the breeze, but everyone seems to be stomaching it well. As the clouds began to thicken, Leafshank decided to slow down the boat. Urr voiced concern that the cloud cover could be a sign of danger, and the crew started mumbling concerns as well, but then we heard a reptilian roar from the clouds ahead.

We were attacked by a great white dragon and her wyrmling cubs. She ignored my pleas in Draconic, and roared, inciting her frightful presence. As I was petrified, her infant spawn swarmed the ship, frightening the crew. We could have defeated her young, but she intervened with her wrath as soon as a couple well-aimed hits drew her attention. We fought tooth and nail with her and her children. As the ship’s helm was repeatedly left unattended, and the mother dragon bore all of her weight on the aft of the deck, we began to lose altitude. I’m not sure if it was one of her icy blasts, or the claws of one of the wyrmlings, but one of the poor crew members was macerated before he could make it below to relative safety.

We managed to kill all of her spawn just in time for a barely-controlled crash landing. She left with a roar, tearing the ship with her giant talons and her sheer weight. The ship looks pretty roughed up, but sky-worthy. But as the dragon left, she eyed us with the rage of a mother who has lost her children, and the rage of a wild animal that knows her territory is still threatened.

I’m not sure what we’ll do. If we take off again, she’ll surely hunt us down and destroy the ship, killing us all. I could portal the surviving crew back to Ironwale, but they would never see their ship again, effectively losing it during what should have been an uneventful maiden voyage. Regardless, it is unsafe to remain idle. Even if not for the dragon, Frer’solund is out there somewhere. And it is starting to get cold.

Age 7, Last Earthday of Harvester

It was 12 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was too old too old to toddle along with my mother as she worked, and too young to get an apprenticeship in the market or on the docks. Our father was out on errantry, and mom didn’t talk about it much. I knew it made her sad, and I hoped he would be able to make it back home for the week of Brewfest, but I knew it wasn’t likely. These days my brother, senior of me by 3 years, would wander off before breakfast, and only barely make it home in time for dinner, always with a vacant gaze. So during daylight, I was left to my own devices, free to wander the streets of Greenlake.

I spent the morning playing with vagrant children my age. When I had been younger, they teased me for my blue skin. Sometimes I was the “Blue Fairy”, and sometimes I was “Briney Tim”. I didn’t seek their friendship, but we managed to find enough common ground to play anyway. Sometimes we would play hide-and-seek, and often we would chase each other up and down alleys with make-shift wooden “swords”. (I always bested them with those.) It was an idyllic part of my childhood – I got to run with the ruffians, but I always had a place to come home for dinner.

I spent the afternoon watching street entertainers. I was obviously not from wealth, so they didn’t bother to hustle me for compensation. When you have a child’s amount of free time, to wander the streets as I did, you look at the entertainers in a different light. They worked hard for their money, but they were always only second rate. I’ve seen street magicians accidentally light themselves on fire, I’ve seen sword jugglers lose fingers. When I realized it was near dark, with the sun well below the horizon and my companions long scattered, I decided to head back home.

My mind withdrawn into daydreams, I took a wrong turn in a back alley, and didn’t realize it until a few blocks later. I had always known to be careful when travelling alone in the alleyways. The less sane of the cities vagrants, the ones who existed only in the crevices of society, called some of these alleys their home. The one I was in was no exception. About 30 feet ahead of me in the alley was an obstruction. Some sort of worn lean-to, or tent, filling the entire breadth of the alley. An ominous red-orange glow emanated from between the folds of the ramshackle abode, along with the foul smell of singed hair and improperly disposed feces. I stopped dead in my tracks.

My heart was racing like a bard with a drum. As I took a step back, my foot slipped on some refuse and I managed to tumble backwards into a large crate off to the side of the alley. I heard a rustling nearby, and then a raspy male voice shouted out, “What’s that!? Who’s there?”

I lay inside that crate, as still as a moss-covered stone. I knew that I must not be found. Children that wandered blindly into the wrong alleys were often not seen again.

“My sight may not be what it used to be, bu-but I know someone is out there.” the elderly voice called again. Then he mumbled something about “rapscallion children” and “alley cats”. I stilled my breath but I knew I had no chance for a quiet escape.

“I will not be harassed by your folk any longer!” asserted the old man.

Then he started mumbling something. First barely audible, and then slowly getting louder. He wasn’t speaking the language of the common folk, nor the language of my own people or that of the elves I sometimes watched down at the market. The words reminded me of the mumblings of the street magicians that I often watched make fools of themselves. Before I made the mental connection, I felt my chest tighten and grow cold, as if grabbed by an invisible ghostly hand. Then excruciating pain as bolts of lightening burst through the boards of the crate, wrapping around my small frame, and then dragged me down the alley towards the smiling wretched old man at the other end of the lightening bolts.

“That’ll teach you you to bother Chester, laddy!” cackled the man, as I slowed to a stop near his feet. I struggled to lift my head to look up at him. As I did, a look of surprise crept across his face, followed by a look of panic. Chester cringed as he clutched his chest, and was dead before he hit the ground next to me.

I don’t remember walking home that night. I probably did, but I don’t remember – probably because I was so badly hurt. Lucky, though, to even be alive. I guess that was the reason for the look of surprise on the old man’s face.

A week later I worked up the gumption to venture back into that same alley. Chester’s body was gone, and his shack had been ransacked, its covering in tatters. I was getting ready to turn tail and head out when I noticed a worn book on the ground, the only recognizable belonging left behind and in one piece.

It was titled “Arcana for Beginners” - I made sure to grab it before leaving.