The Crone’s Chronicle: Day 1 - 2 of Sunsebb CY 576
Gather ‘round, if you can stand the biting winter air. It’s the first of Sunsebb, and the ground here in Orlane is as frozen as a miser's heart. You can see your own breath hanging in the pale sunlight like little ghosts trying to escape your lungs.
The village has been quite a theater lately. Our local band of "heroes" has been loitering at the merchants' stalls, haggling over baubles and trying to make sense of the junk they drag out of the dirt. I watched them whispering with that mysterious woman who identifies their treasures. She’s a sharp one—won’t use her own magic, oh no, she reads it all from scrolls, which is likely why she charges them enough platinum to make a king weep.
Speaking of weeping, poor Sergius has been out in the chill, training his dwarven bones until they probably rattle. He won’t be fit for anything but a warm hearth until at least the 8th of Sunsebb. Meanwhile, Gnorcia is busy scribbling away at her own book—The Book of Gnorcia, she calls it. I suppose if you don’t write your own legend, the crows will just pick it apart.
The real gossip, though, is what happened out at the Barrow Marsh. The party finally decided to do right by Sirius, who met her end some time ago. They hauled her poor, desiccated body—strapped to a horse, mind you—out to the burial place of Adelbertus. But the dead don’t always like company. A spectral dead rose from the mist, moving faster than a rumor.
It was quite the scuffle. Armatzi gave it a thumping with a newly identified mace they're calling "Skull Crusher". Gnorcia finished it off with a "stabby stab" that sent the spirit back to the ether. They eventually got Sirius into a crypt, though it cost them 50 gold pieces and a five-minute invocation to Saint Cuthbert to make sure she stays put.
What’s next for our wandering souls? They’re eyeing Iron Guard Mott. Is it for glory? For justice? No, it seems they’re going for cheese. Myr has a craving for a wheel of stinky Limburger from the north. Imagine facing down the spectral dead just to end up smelling like a foot!
In the meantime, Nikki is prepping a greenhouse on the frozen ground, which seems a bit optimistic given the frost. And Dwerom has developed a "taste for carp" while playing with magic.
Some say I’m a trickster, or worse, a demon from the netherworld. But me? I just tell the stories. And in Orlane, the stories are getting as cold and strange as the weather.
Stay warm, if the shadows let you.
— Vilma
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