Dear Spellbook,

I just read through Dagmar’s report. He’d told me all this before, but when he spoke, it was colored with his cursing and humor. I hope writing it down without those deflections helped him come to terms with what happened. He screwed up, no doubt in that, but there was nothing he could have done to prevent the attack. Had he challenged that duergar in disguise, they would have just killed him, and then where would I be?

I suppose it's my turn to finally tell you about the events leading up to our time at Crossroads. I left off right after Trish ushered me away from the ruins of our caravan.

Illunia 15th-19th Road to Edgewater

We walked late into the night. It had been five days since the river had started to dry up, which matches with Dagmar’s timeline of events. Trish disguised us as best she could in case we were still being followed. The scene at my parents' camp made it likely I was still a target, and the picture on the hunched man’s corpse suggested the same for Trish. Trish decided it would be best to cut straight east and approach Edgewater from Landing to throw off anyone waiting for us on the path from the Great Lake. We headed away from the river and the road, into the wilderness. I don't remember stopping, but in the morning Trish had rounded up a donkey that had some supplies on it. She did her best to clean the blood of the previous owner from it, but there's only so much you could do with sand. It took me a while to find my voice after that night, and we traveled in silence for a few days. I don't think I could have spoken if I had tried, and Trish was content to give me time. Between planning elaborate escape plans, from joining one of the floating mat Conclaves to becoming pirates, Trish would speak about small things like the weather or a funny story that came to her to try to get me to open up.

The terrain of the area was open plains spotted with the occasional farm or herd of sheep. We did our best to avoid being seen but were eventually forced to steal food from the farms. After four days of traveling by night, the lights of a camp appeared up ahead. We had finally reached the road that had connected Landing to Edgewater. Hiding the donkey and me in a ditch, Trish went to scout out the caravan. After an hour she returned, “We’re in luck. It looks like this is a group of refugees from Landing. It suffered an attack, so we should be able to blend in.”

It didn’t take a lot of effort on Trish’s part to pull off the refugee look. Leading the donkey, we walked towards the camp, Trish pretended to be surprised by the sentry on duty, “Stop! Who goes there?” yelled a voice. A lantern opened up to reveal the area. The speaker was a soldier in the uniform of the Landing city watch. He wore chainmail, with gauntlets and pauldrons, accented with the blue and white colors of the ruling house of Landing, the Diabins.

“Oh, dear! You scared us. Oh, Theral! We are saved, it's the Landing guard!” Trish explained this all in a breath, crushing me in a hug, and introducing that stupid name I have not since been able to shake. Seamlessly, she had adopted the guise and mannerism of a scared refugee. Gone was the confident woman who casually stripped the dead of valuables and planned pirate escapes. In her place stood a scared teen.

“It's more refugees!” the guard yelled back to where soldiers were gathering. “Go on through, we have no spare tents, so you will have to make do with what you’ve got.”

The camp had about a hundred refugees: men, women, and children alike. Guards were scattered around the camp, but there couldn’t have been more than twenty.

After we found a spot by a fire near the edge of the camp, Trish whispered, “No one looks to be in charge. Perfect. We just need to lie low until we hit Edgewater and I can get word to my friend.”

One of the plans Trish talked about in my fugue was to get in contact with the captain of a ship she once crewed. They were based out of the coast near Edgewater.

Settling in for the night, Trish and I huddled under the single blanket we had found in the donkey’s pack.

We woke to alarms in the night, “Close in! Creatures in the night!”

The camp broke into panic. The guards could be seen in the center and the more level-headed ran towards them. A group of children at our fire froze in fear, huddling together with no adult to guide them.

“Come on! Follow us!” I shouted to them, but they stood still in fear. Behind them, I could see shapes circling in the shadows.

Trish looked from me to the kids, as if deciding, before she ran to the smallest of the three and tried to drag him towards the camp. “You heard the man! Let’s get a move on it!”

The child screamed when Trish approached. Drawn by the screams, shadowy figures charged into the light; the figures were small wretched creatures, malnourished and dressed in the tattered remains of their previous victims. Goblins.

Goblins are one of the failed creations of Bilieth and Erebog, and look like a twisted cross between halflings and orcs, with limbs as suitable for running on all fours as for walking upright. They behave like packs of feral dogs, but are intelligent enough to use the weapons of their victims.

The goblins screeched at us, brandishing large knives that looked like swords on their small frames.

Trish threw the child behind her and stepped between the other two and the advancing monsters. I rushed to stand beside her. Eight goblins were coming at us. Trish threw a knife from within her clothes and hit the lead goblin square in the chest, dropping it in a single blow. Undeterred by the loss, the others continued their advance.

I formed the construct for Ghost Light with my Will. So much for lying low. From my time on the road, I knew goblins could be deterred by bright light, and killed outright with a Firebolt.

When the goblins were a dozen feet away, I released the Ghost Light between us, causing them to recoil in surprise. Taking advantage of the light and the target’s shock, Trish threw another knife. She struck the goblin in the eye, killing it instantly, it’s body falling limply to the ground to join the first.

The remaining five goblins let out a shrill cry and spread out to surround us while shielding their eyes from the light. I fired a Firebolt, downing a third in a burst of flames and the rancid stench of burning goblin. As they grew closer, the light fell behind them—allowing them to see—and I was forced to spend time conjuring a new one, this time above our heads.

The children screamed as the goblins approached, huddling together next to the fire.

Once again blinded, the goblin slashed wildly at us, forgoing the shielding of their eyes to attack. Three went for Trish, but she parried their blind attacks easily. I activated Arcane Armor in time to narrowly avoid a slash at my thighs. With no weapon, I could only kick at the other two small creatures and hope my Armor would hold. The goblin closed in for another attack, and I put my weight on my left foot, extending my right to kick the blade from its hand. I felt the thin arm give way as my boot made contact and the knife went flying. The goblin collapsed, clutching the arm to its chest.

Before I could turn to kick the other goblin, Trish was at my side, stabbing her dagger into its chest, interrupting it as it tried to make another ineffectual swipe at my shield.

I allowed Trish to finish off the disarmed goblin and surveyed the area. Trish had cleanly killed each goblin with a strike to the neck or head in the time it took me to disable one. The ground was covered in the blood of the goblins, black, even in the illumination of my Ghost Light. I turned to check on the children, and saw that one of them had been bitten on the leg; blood was pouring from the wound and the child was screaming in pain. Near them lay a ninth goblin with one of Trish’s knives sticking from its throat. I pulled my shirt off, and used it to secure the wound.

I tried to reassure the child, “Shhh. It's okay, you are going to be okay.”

The screams or the blood, maybe both, started to attract more goblins. They gathered around the edge of my lights’ reach. I looked up and saw Trish as she tried to keep them at bay, throwing the knives of the dead at them, but her aim suffered from the poor blades. I cast another Firebolt at the crowd as they built the courage to close in, but I had to remove my hands from the child’s wound in the process, causing the bleeding to begin anew.

Conflicted, I did not know what to do. As I was about to give up tending the child to help Trish fight the creatures, the thunder of hoof beats grew audible in the distance. It grew louder until a mounted man in gleaming silver armor and a white tabard rode into the light, trampling goblins under his mount’s feet. His armor reflected both Ghost Lights, and he shone like a knight out of legend. He jumped from the horse—which continued to stomp the goblins with its armored hooves—and rushed to my side. He tossed his helmet, revealing the weathered face of a veteran soldier. His skin was dark, and scars ran from his cheeks to his shaved scalp.

The man gently took the child from me, and at a word his hands glowed with light, and the child’s skin knit back together before my eyes. He leaned over to inspect his work, and I then noticed the emblems of a Tower Seeker emblazoned on his pauldron.

Flood, I’m dead. My instincts beat—literally—into me by my mother screamed, but I saw the goblins still attacking the refugees. I can’t flee and leave them. If he is going to kill me, I can’t stop him

Resolved, I picked up a large branch from near the fire and fought my way to Trish, clubbing a goblin out of the way when it tried to intersect me. Her back was to the Seeker’s horse while she kept the goblins at bay with her dagger and a goblin’s knife she had recovered. The goblins were not focused solely on the pair, the horse was bleeding from wounds all over its legs, attracting their attention. I unleashed an overpowered Firebolt at the nearest goblin. The larger bolt exploded on contact with the goblin, killing it instantly in an eruption of flame and knocking the creatures on either side to the ground in shock. I ran through the opening in the ring and was able to join Trish at the horse’s side.

“Moron! You weren’t supposed to jump inside the circle!” she admonished me.

“Sorry!” I said, somehow able to feel ashamed as I lit another goblin on fire with a Firebolt.

A sharp whistle rang over the sounds of battle, and the horse at our back reared and charged out of the circle of goblins. Without stopping the mount, the Seeker leaped atop its back and began to ride through the goblins surrounding us. He killed five with a single swing of his great sword, their bodies falling to the ground in pieces. Seeing the destruction he wrought with a single swing, I used the last of my Will to summon a Ghost Light anchored to him.

He made quick work of the remaining goblins and left us to help others in the camp who were still battling. The few surviving goblins fled from the shining knight, into the darkness.

Exhausted from the brief struggle, I collapsed to the ground next to the fire. It was still burning as if a battle had not been fought around it.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you knew how to do that.” Trish’s voice said from behind me. I turned to see her collecting her knives off of the dead goblins and, after failing to find a piece of intact cloth on the goblins, she wiped them on her cloak. “You know Clean right? Every good wizard knows Clean.”

“I, uh, don’t know that one, sorry.”

Looking at the fresh goblin stains all over her cloak she said, “Well, I guess this is a lost cause,” and cleaned the rest on it before tossing it into the fire.

Burning goblin blood smells terrible. Your enhanced sensorium isn’t working for senses, but it was rank and I feel I can almost taste it now.

The smell was so bad we had to abandon the fire and join one closer to the center of camp. Trish ushered the children along and gave me an apologetic look.

What little semblance to a camp the gathering had was not destroyed in the raid. People were crowded around fires, sobbing. The soldiers and men were gathering the wounded and dead. I moved to help with the effort after seeing the children safely to the fire, but Trish pulled me down, sat me on a stump, and began bandaging my foot.

I tried to resist. "What are you doing? I'm fine. I should help them."

"Sit still magic boy, and hold this," she whispered and handed me a leather-bound tome. I opened it in confusion to see it was a merchant’s ledger.

She continued, "So what's your cover? Are you a Tenlian or some other godling by-blow? Got a little demon blood? Or are you pretending to be a Stormcaller? Ah, yeah that's the one. I should have noticed the clothes sooner."

I paged through the ledger, I discovered that the merchant was very bad at math, and he was attempting to write a romance novel between entries. Eventually her words sunk in. She knew I was a sorcerer. How? And more importantly, she didn't care. Why?

"Don't look so shocked." She started counting items off on her free hand, "You know magic, you have no spellbook, you haven't freaked out over the loss of said non-existent spellbook, and you haven't told me you were a Tower wizard a dozen times. Oh yeah, and you keep glancing over at that Seeker like you have something to hide. Stop that."

"I do not." I said like a petulant child refusing to admit they were not wearing pants, when it was clear that they were not.

"Alright fine," I admitted. "But how do you know I don't have a spellbook?"

"Easy, I looked through your bag—which I should mention you haven't done once—and you just had a journal filled with some made up gibberish. No spellforms. Relax, I don't care. But Baldy over there will. Get your story straight, he's coming this way"

The bald knight was in fact coming this way, my Ghost Light still shining above his head.

"Thanks for the assistance out there," he said, pointing to the Light. "Also, you may have saved that boy's life, so doubly thanks. I owe you a debt. My name is Daulf."

He tossed me a shirt, which I caught and put on slowly in order to buy some time to think. My mother had taught me to pass myself off as a Stormcaller if this day ever arose. I knew what to do, but knowing and doing are very different things. I don't think she expected that I'd do a dry run with a flooding Tower Seeker.

Poking my head through the hole in the shirt, I saw Daulf standing there patiently with a warm smile. From the lines on his face, it was a well-worn expression.

I introduced myself, using my practiced lie with a new name, "Theral. My name is Theral, that is. I'm Apprentice Stormcaller Theral Farvoyage."

“Well, a Stormcaller, that is a rare sight. On a walkabout I suppose, chose a bad time,” Daulf said, gesturing to the camp, smile replaced with a somber expression.

“Yeah, I lost my master in the,” I paused, both from the real grief of losing my parents, and being uncertain as to what caused these refugees to be here.

“Say no more, you are not alone in your grief this night. If you can manage, I could use a man of your talents to help keep the survivors alive as we make our way to Edgewater. After the dragon and its minions destroyed Landing, it's the closest thing to a city this far north.”

I was overcome with a mix of relief and dread. Relief that my deception had worked, and dread at the prospect of traveling to Edgewater with this Seeker. Not only would I be travelling with a Seeker, but also with a group that just escaped death at the hands of sorcerers. If my identity got out, I was doomed.

The rest of the night was a blur of activity. I had no Will left to aid, but Daulf put me to work tending the wounded, his own powers to heal also exhausted. Eventually I found a cot, and was able to sleep. My last thought as I drifted off was I’m sure Trish will find a way for us to be free of this Seeker. He can’t follow me forever.