Journal

Friday May 10th IC 1428
Squad leader DeSalvo - Situation Report:
The sun was at its apex when we spotted the smoke. We had seen trolls on our enlistment march several months back, but our numbers were far greater and theirs far fewer. The Master Sergeant divided our forces into two groups. Half of the men followed him to the mesa on the East that we other half of us formed a wedge and marched toward the smoke on the western bluff. The road snaked its way between the two mesas disappearing below the horizon. As soon as we reached the area the commander called Bleached Sands Bend we witnessed the horror that had begun there only minutes ago. Horse carts were overturned and burning on the road. Blood spattered the road and the sandy incline to the west. The burning wagons looked like a defensive measure used to keep the trolls at bay. As we surveyed the area we saw some trolls lingering in the vicinity of the road several others were fleeing westward as more arrived on the scene. There must have been at least ten of them. A small outcropping on the east side of the road held the last four survivors of what must have been a wagon train of at least fifty. The wind across the sands was blowing hard enough that we could hear the fighting, but not clearly. What struck me as odd was there were no bodies, only blood. Though the trolls did not take the horses.

Master Sergeant Enzo and the balance of our forces arrived in position to aid the survivors. The two rangers were lobbing arrows over us into the trolls massing by the rock formations ahead. Lord Hellebore shouted for us to form a defensive line. Our direct commander sergeant Mouse (I think they called him) restated the order. We locked our shields and braced for attack. The trolls massed and surged in our direction. One appeared on our left flank without notice. With a single blow it removed private Mecham's head. The spray of blood coated us all. Lord hellebore unloaded a volley of arrows into the creature, distracting him from inflicting further casualties. The half elf imperial ranger ran out wide to our right attempting to flank the trolls. I assumed she could handle a troll single handedly and didn't need the protection of the formation. Private Ernesto said she and the other ranger were shooting at some invisible creature hiding in the rocks. The Vorseman rider threw himself into the fray wielding sword and saint with equal alacrity. Our sergeant ordered the men in the back to lend aid to Lord Hellebore. The Troll seemed hell bent on destroying him.

Three trolls closed on our right flank. We still had not been given the order to attack. Defensive action only! We heard again from the sergeant. Across the way I could see the Master Sergeant leading an assault on the trolls assailing the survivors. I thought I saw a pregnant woman waving her arms franticly. What the hell was she doing out here!

I felt Simmons body crash into mine. Then I saw the sweep of one trolls arm continue to the man next to me. Our front line was taking heavy casualties. I pushed forward filling the gap. Then I heard the command I had been waiting for. The Sergeant's voice cracked as he yelled the command for all to hear. We threw everything we had at them. The brutes were a frenzy of claw and tooth. Their red manes seemed to bristle like the quills of a porcupine. The fey ranger was firing behind us now toward the other ranger. I could hear shouts and screaming, but dare not look or lose my own head. The Vorseman charged headlong into out midst of the trolls, softening up the center before disappearing over the lip of the incline. When I turned back to see what he had wrot the other trolls fell from the imperial rangers arrows.

We turned our attention to the other side of the road. I could see that a man dressed in attire common to mercenaries bleeding out at the feet of another troll. Near him was a boy of maybe sixteen facing the troll alone. A series of savage blows left him lifeless on the ground. The master sergeant and the Cloverman cleric were finishing off the other trolls and rendering aid to one of the fallen survivors. The troll fight in Lord Hellebore was defeated and was soon set alight like the others. The remaining troll grabbed the corpse of the fallen youth and bounded west out of sight. The screams of the pregnant woman calling out his name was chilling. Before we had time to count our fallen we were ordered to line up on the road. The distant howl of more trolls was more than enough motivation for the men. The Vorseman ordered us to quickly stack the bodies of our fallen, then he called down a pillar of fire on them leaving nothing for the trolls, should they return.

During our hasty departure I overhead the surviving man explaining that his name was Tripp Hawkins. He was a master ship builder out of Victorious. He and his wife and their eldest son were on the run. Their son had gotten mixed up with the Facci and now they were running for their lives. Unpaid debits and misplaced good intentions had been their undoing. The rattle of the wagons or perhaps nature's cruel timing caused the woman to go into labor while we were still three hours out of Elderd's Cross. Sergeant Mouse and the Vorseman cleric conspired to bring the baby into the world. Mouse's delicate sensibilities took hold of him, rendering him of little use to the Vorseman. Soon the baby was united with the mother and we got underway once more.

Our arrival outside of The Cross seemed to be the source of some debate among our leadership. After a short time whatever discussion they were having was resolved and we were admitted into the city. The usual tariffs had been suspended. I imagine it was something to do with the hero status of our commanders. That was where we parted company with the Heroes of the Rose.

Mouse - I had come home to a world that seemed almost unchanged in the year I was absent. The Cross still smelled of salt and sea. People were going about life on the edge of the Hardlands seemingly oblivious to their proximity to peril. The looming buildings felt like a warm embrace from a favored uncle. The smell of furnace fires mixed with that of oven fresh bread. A woman exited a lacquered coach holding a ribbon laced lapdog only feet from a crippled dockworker pan handling for scraps. This was my adopted home and I loved every part of it. There was no place I would call home more than this tarnished jewel on the imperial crown.

The business with the shipwright was unfortunate, but it was the cost of doing business here. To ignore the protocols was the surest path to destruction. I had already identified three members of the Facci before we passed Bison's on our way to St Michael's. Was I so careless when I first arrived. If they didn't improve quickly the truncheon would be the only payment they would know till the gaolers had they say. Whatever Capo claimed them for his or her cell would be bereft of any profits for some time to come. Had the Facci become sloppy in my absence, Zephira should consider the cost of sending away on extended missions.

The business at St Michael's was brief and to the point. The bishop was more than eager to greet the liberators of St. Rose. To see him eagerly greet each of us in turn was a radical change from they way he used to treat me and my associates. I have been a worshiper of Cuthbert all my life. Until now I was a drain on his earthly charity. Now I was a symbol of the greatness of his church. I rarely visited St Michael's and when I did it was usually in retreat from some failed venture. I don't think I ever wore the same disguise twice here. Though here under the eyes of Cuthbert there was no hiding who or what I am. I had long ago abandoned the idea of being a pious soul. The very idea was laughable. Somehow the church still felt like mother's lap after a fight. A safe place to feel comforted before facing the next trial or rebuff.

A certain amount of pride could be had by staying one step ahead of those who would see you harmed. Observe lest ye be the observed. Cut bait or be dragged into the morass. Trinity Company changed much of the behavior which had kept me alive. In the Facci nobody has your back, unless they are looking to stick a knife in it. My own blood had been killed when I was young. The Facci offered me a family when I had none. Now I have two families. IT was an unhealthy marriage. Like the bride and groom I would have to answer to both and betray neither. My world stands at a summit a step to either side means descent.

The bishop took in the family we rescued from the trolls with a promise of protection. From there we turned toward Bison's. Would this be the beginning of the downward trek? My shoes felt heavier with each step I took toward Bison's.

The door swung wide as we entered the smoke-stained wood interior. Lampners were illuminating the post outside just outside. "A light in the storm?"

The regular cast was assembled. Bison, the ham handed proprietor smiled his usual broad tooth smile. He always wore short sleeves to display his campaign tattoo.
Calais and the others quickly engaged in conversation with the friendly bear of a man. Soon he was raising a mug in salute of the accomplishments of the Heroes of The Rose. Again the melancholy... Each of them cozying up to the well-worn bar. Drinks and smiles passed like old friends. Silverhawk rested her campaign hardened body against Calais while he sat at the bar. The two of them were quiver to the other's arrow, though they were half a species apart they were kindred. One of Bison's lackeys tapped the ink-laden needle into Calais' shoulder, he too would claim the mark.

The parade of companions would soon begin. The first arrived as Corman, Calais and Enzo finished the Castillian spiced dish of potatoes and carrots with lamb. The curry dish was the only scent that could compete with the perfumed gas lamp interior of The Bison.

While the others had their attention on the parade of flesh I spied an acquaintance. Lee was looking as good as she always had. She was given to spinning a quick yarn and departing, never really giving me an opportunity to press my case with her. She was as beautiful as she was deadly. Over Lee's shoulder I saw where Sullivan. True to form the barbarian was enjoying his drink at a nearby table. Bison knew the Colverman's reputation and made sure he did not disrupt business with his belligerent behavior. The mild poison in his beverage would speed him to a good night sleep without incident.

True to form, Lee excused herself at the very moment in the conversation where a window of opportunity would allow me better mingle our two futures.

With my real quarry removed I returned to my companions. It was my turn to solidify my lifelong union. The Vorseman was eye locked with and olive skinned beauty painted in henna. Her comely Casillian features were a gift of good heredity. Her uncharacteristic green eyes seemed alluring enough to ensnare any man. I marveled as the seductress worked her wiles on him in vein. "What the hell, what's he holding out for! She is prefect." With a coy "remember this view" look, she moved on into the main parlor.

We traded stories with Bison for a time as the parade continued. Then the musician who had been filling the hall with melodic harmonies all evening fell silent, as did everyone else in the hall. I twisted in his chair to get a look at the stairs. She must be kmaking her entrance. No other could hold sway over so many. Elsha, her captivating presence rivaled that of queens and saints. Her black veil her only raiment. Time seemed to slow when she was near. Each movement lasting longer than the moment. It always felt like a dream to be near her. Upon waking, one wondered at the reality and truth of it.

She too knew of the Heroes of The Rose. We were at the center of the universe. She invited us to meet with her privately later in the evening. How was that going to work?
Later I watched as bison wiped down the bar once more. He called to one of the barmaids to cover for him. He gestured for everyone to follow. Passing though a door marked private I observed that the furnishings in the room were plush and comfortable looking.

Bison continued through the room and up a carpeted staircase to a loft. The room carried the intoxicating scent that always accompanied Elsha. Sure enough, she was reclining in a brocade chaise lounge. In front of her were arranged five wingback chairs. No detail was spared in setting the stage. Elsha masterfully orchestrated every encounter. God she was good.

I found it difficult to keep focused on her words as she spoke. "You were about to ask me a question earlier and I stopped you Northman. Ask your question now and I will answer." Corman seemed eager to pursue the line of questioning from earlier in the evening. Elsha leaned forward almost asking the question for him.
"I met someone like you when I was deep in The Grimme. She healed my wounds." Corman seemed to search for the right words, was he trying not to offend or was he unsure of his evidence?
"She said she was Goh Bahlin." He continued gathering confidence with each word.
Elsha seemed to rise slightly elevating her view of her audience.
"It is true, she is kin to me."
What followed was an admission that confirmed our suspicions and revealed a family secret so diabolical that it was peerless in its deception. The entire race of goblins was ruled by a façade. The ancestor race to the goblins still lived and ruled in secret over their sundered empire. Elsha's sister had fashioned herself in the semblance of a god, the goblin god of war Khorne.

While weighing the weight of her words I heard Elsha call my name. Elsha gestured for me to approach. She lorded praise on me for his noble efforts in keeping her favored sons safe. While basking in the glow of her attentions I heard her extend to us an offer to aid her in her efforts to topple her sisters crown. Elsha would be queen of The Grimme. She pledged to end the war between man and goblin. As evidence she recalled a time when missionaries spread the word of Cuthbert in peace. She even went so far as to claim to have met St. Catherine during her ministry.

With business proclaimed, but unresolved she dismissed us to consider her offer. Calais and Silverhawk adjourned to a private room with Elsha's blessing. Corman found himself in the company of the green eyed Castillian girl and I found many wondrous pleasures in the arms of one of Elsha's best. I heard later that Enzo got a sponge bath from Elsha herself. I doubt it's true, Enzo sometimes stretches the truth.