Leo’s been working with the tundra wolves to get them into shape to actually go and help the Southwood, and I’ve been slowly absorbing the information Tarl gave me on it, as well as everything else. It takes time to properly process all that, and I’ve been busy trying to not freak out over the scythemaws.

At least the stupid swordgators seem content to be on my backburner for now, thank goodness for small blessings, even if they feel like a sword of Damoclese hanging over my head. I’m pretty sure, in the myth, it was hanging over the guy’s throne for some reason. I don’t remember if it ever actually fell on him. I’d brush up on my Greek mythology, but it’s a little out of my reach, heh.

Anyway: Southwood. It’s a long way off. No wonder Tarl is gone for like a month when he goes to visit. It’s at least a hundred miles of rough country to get there, and the winter will only make it rougher. I’ve talked with Poe about sending some ravens with the wolves to act as messengers, and he says they should be able to handle it, especially if they can ride the wolves and hunker down for warmth.

My Warden and Marshal have been working on coordinating, and it’s been going pretty well, what with the practice of having Honey’s bees along for a lot of expeditions. None of them will be going to the Southwood, though. It’ll be way too cold for them to do much of anything.

They’re sending a few scouting parties where the map says they should need to go, and are practicing a bit of a pony express system for relaying reports and results of the expeditions. It’s working pretty well so far; we’ve got two outposts set up already. They’re not Outposts with a capital O yet, or whatever the official designation might be. I dunno if there’s not an official term for it yet, or if I’ve missed some requirement for them. Either way, they’re just a little spot in a thicket and a small alcove in a hill that the wolves and ravens can rest and recover in. They don’t exactly have running water, and I’m not planning on moving in anytime soon.

Still, I think the system will work, and Leo and Poe are both looking forward to organizing further afield, so I give them the go-ahead. I get the feeling Leo wants to go with the first actual force I send to try to help, but that’s for later. I probably won’t stop him, though. Leonidas is a name that wants to stand in the face of the impossible tide, after all. I just hope it goes better for mine than the one in history.

I’m also working on upgrading my earth elemental spawner, and it spat out something that sounds a lot more scary than it actually is: a living rockslide. It sounds like something that would just obliterate everything in its path. It looks like a pebble swarm. To be fair, it is more dangerous than it looks. For smaller invaders, it might as well be an actual rockslide, and for larger, it’s quite the tripping hazard. They’re cool, I’m letting them wander around more or less as they like, and they mostly like the tunnels and caverns.

I’m considering asking Poe to send some on expedition into the underswamps and/or aquifer, when I feel the familiar feet of Tarl on my grass. He doesn’t get the typical birb greeting, though, as he’s over in the graveyard section, rather than the manor. He doesn’t make any declarations, either… is he here on personal business, then?

He spots Grim and simply nods at him as he walks slowly through the gravestones. He clearly has a destination in mind, so my scion leaves him be. He’s seen the look of someone needing to pay respects enough times to recognize it.

I should probably give him some privacy… but I can’t help but follow him, trying to be quiet and respectful, as if anyone could notice my presence anyway. The elf’s hands idly brush over a few of the tombstones, a small smile teasing at the corners of his lips. Yeah, Grim’s done amazing work in here. I’m proud of him. Eventually, Tarl comes to stop in front of a grave and simply stands there a few minutes, lost in thought or memories.

Inspector Listor Greybrows

Honored Mentor

Loving Husband and Father

“Your focus isn’t quite as subtle as you think it is, Thedeim,” he says evenly. I’m just glad I lack the ability to crap my pants now. He just gives a bittersweet chuckle as I try to take my focus elsewhere.

“You don’t have to go. It’d be rude of me to demand that. Besides… I could use someone to just listen.” He pauses and looks at the tombstone, trying to gather his thoughts. “Where do I even start?”

“Well, I guess I should say he’s not my dad. Listor was an orc from the Wanderlands. He always had this innate understanding of dungeons. I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor. He was understanding, both of people and of dungeons. I think I’m decent with one, at least.” He sighs and looks out over the wall of the cemetery.

“He died not far from here. We could only put up a memorial stone and embed his badge in it. Hullbreak Harbor killed him. Yeah… the other dungeon.” He shakes his head before continuing. “It wasn’t always belligerent. In fact, it was a pretty standard toybox. Good fishing, good pearling… it even eventually got dwellers who were happy to trade.

“And then… disaster struck. You can read what details we managed to get from the survivors, but an accident killed a few of the merfolk, and Hullbreak went mad. Listor was delving at the time.” His hand gently rests atop the tombstone, where the fallen inspector’s icon of authority sits. “This is all we got back.”

He sighs once more and straightens slightly. “That’s the risk of the job, and why people were so nervous around you at the start, you know? Nobody wanted a repeat of Hullbreak. Everyone else is content to just ignore the water dungeon, and it’s happy to ignore everyone else, too.” His hand slips into a pocket and pulls out a letter, which he spreads out on the tombstone for me to inspect. “But ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.”

Please, Dungeoneers, help us. Hullbreak is starving. His spawners are fading, his nodes atrophying. He just wants to protect us, but he’s killing himself to try to do it! Save my people and my home!

Yendo

“A seagull left that for me, at the guildhouse. As far as I can tell, it’s from one of the dwellers. I don’t know how they managed to get this message out, but I can’t ignore it. Hullbreak killed my mentor… but I don’t think I can blame it for that. I know he wouldn’t blame it for that…”

“But I don’t know how to help it, how to help them. Hullbreak only avoids being labelled murderous because it doesn’t send out hostile expeditions. How can I help it if it will just kill anyone who tries?” He closes his eyes in frustration, and soon feels a hand on his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, he sees a yellow daffodil offered in the other bony hand of my skeleton scion. My Voice speaks from the shoulder of my Groundsreaper. “We’ll figure something out, Tarl. Thedeim will put things right,” he promises for me, and the elf takes the flower with shaking hands, and sets it atop the tombstone. Ah, such a terrible day for rain.