A song of Ice and Dice

Dreams and remorse As we wait for someone to arrive from the celestial college, my mind wanders. I sense Eldur’s barely constrained fury and unrest, as I do much of the time now, asleep or awake. To the others, I conceal my inner turmoil, and well I believe. I do not tell them most nights are spent tossing and turning at best, or screaming in nightmares at worst. It’s always the same. Eldur, being dragged down into the murky waters by tentacles. At first, I thought my mind was replaying the gruesome scene with the Kharibdyss almost killing him. But then, I see that the waters are not of the sea, but of swamp. Murky and fetid, not fresh and cold. The tentacles are not of the great but ultimately mundane beast, but of dark shadow and the swamp itself. And Eldur – he does not drown, but lets the tentacles into his core, cackling with madness, as I can feel his power swell and his soul vanish. In the background, someone is laughing, relishing my helplessness. I can never move, I can

Fire melts ice into water and water finally evaporates and floats away as mist. The fire warms again. I can smell the ash and the soot. The red wind screams through me, flickers and almost ignites my pillow as I awake. Was it all a dream? No, Malice is real and she knows. Moreover, she showed me. Cinders and hellfire! However, we are alive. Sweet Sunniva smiles again. O joy.   A week out from Norsca the tight, tight grip around my neck and all of our necks finally lets go. Oh, how good it is to feel the fire flowing again. Things have been so dark and bleak but now the slightest flicker of the wick puts me in a fiercely good mood again. The team spirit is rising like hot smoke and we have good strong winds taking us south and away from Norsca and away from Malice.  A growing concern among us is however the tablets. I fear what they represent exactly and if they will help unleash some untold chaos once the final pieces are in place. Discussions around the topic are futile though as

  From the journal of Johanna Schwarz: 32. Vorhexen, 2498 Tonight I dreamt of the ocean. The sea was dark, the sun nowhere to be seen, and I was falling into the waters, sinking down towards the bottom. What little light filtered down from above grew slowly weaker, and I could sense that all around in the dark waters there were formless creatures waiting for my feeble struggling to end. Waking up did not provide relief. This cursed land is cloaked in a perpetual dark winter, broken only by a pale, weak light from a cold sun for some short hours every day, and from the accursed dancing lights in the sky. But the cold and dark outside now only mirrors the cold and dark inside. We are at a low point. The nefarious witch Malice has her evil grip on Eldur and Sunniva. They are convinced that if we do not perform her set task, securing for her the – undoubtedly powerfully magical – remains of her long-dead sister, they will die in despair. We cannot do this. We cannot. I do not know if

End of Vorhexen, probably. Who cares, anyway? In this addendum I'll go through some of my experiences in Norsca. It is not intended as a First Mates Log of The Urchins doings, as she was elsewhere. This also excuses the rambling style and language. Norsca is a fucked up place. Period. The feel of the land is horrible, it gnaws at your soul. Everything is messed ut, when it is not fucking freezing it is a magic infested swamp, and a full amputee can count its redeeming factors on his fingers. We are in Norsca, and since we are in Norsca we need sled wolves and sleds. Also we are in a swamp. Don't ask, and I won't whine. Moving sleds through waist-deep is heavy going, and unpleasant. But it is Norsca, so that is probably what the best guides written about it say.  Norsca: unpleasant. I went so you don't have to. Just stay the fuck further to the south. If noone has written that guide, I'll do it when I get back to civilization. Actually, I just wrote it, so only the p

From the journal of Johanna Schwarz: 13. Vorhexen, 2498 Today was a long chain of horrors. The Sea of Claws has definitely lived up to its name, although the Sea of Fangs would be equally apt, as we learned. Lashed more or less continuously by foul weather, our ship neared the dreaded Norscan coast, when a foul manyheaded beast rose from the waters and nearly decimated both the ship’s crew and my team. Even though I have heard of monstrosities from the deep assailing ships, I am sure the attack was no coincidence, but vengeance for us rooting out the foul Stromfels cult in Wulfhafen. The dark powers do not take kindly to having their plans thwarted. We managed to fight the beast off, but not before it almost tore Eldur’s shoulder off. I rushed over to him and managed to staunch the torrent of blood with a healing elixir and a few hastily wrapped bandages. The look on Sunnivas face as she ran to her stricken brother shook me. It was as if a part of herself had been chopped off, and the