Garath

I was told by Mikhail to write some of my memories of things past,

so that I will not repeat mistakes. 

IRRISEN

I was born in the village of Gara a slave to the Jadwiga.  Mostly I remember being damned cold.  And hungry.  Being just a few days east of Harvest's End allowed for some trade for foodstuffs or clothing, but nothing made its way to us that was not picked over first by Rimetusk the troll and his lackeys in Harvest's End.  Of course, after Gara was burned by the Jadwiga Elvana, we all would have been glad for those leavings.

We never realized that Mikhail’s presence had held off the worst of the witches’ ire.  Everyone else thought that he was just a grouchy old bastard.  But I knew better.  After backbreaking labors, I was sometimes able to retreat to his battered cottage and read until I passed into unconscious weariness.  Rather than living hand to mouth, broken at the end of each day, his wry humor and sharp wits gave me hope that perhaps not all of life was loss.

Sadly, his last trip away from Gara was when Igor Romanov and his merry band of bastards passed through.  Once Mikhail recovered me from the wreckage, he did not look any further for survivors.  None remained.   I will never forget the forest of torches that had once been Romanov and his party, once Mikhail caught up with them.  It might be the warmest I have ever been in that frozen hell.  Literally and figuratively.

Next he stashed me with the Blackraven Hall with the ‘ravens.  And he told me about the Heralds of Summer.

BLACKRAVEN HALL

For four years, until I was about twelve years old, I dwelt at Blackraven Hall.  I was left in the keeping of the scribes for the most part.  I pretty much had the run of the keep, from the upper towers to the beginnings of the strange chambers below.  Years later at the Acadamae I would come to learn that, much like Castle Korvosa, the Hall itself is built on the foundations of an ancient Thassilonian pyramid.  It is filled with numerous chambers and strange magical defenses and resources. 

There I also learned some basic skill at arms.  Being a scrawny, underfed former slave lent me more to the fluid quickness of the quarterstaff, compared to the bulky muscles needed to effectively employ steel.  After I proved adequate with quarter staves, the Master-at-Arms told me to pick out a stout length of wood from the armory and carve one to my liking.  There was something liberating about working wood.  After the staff, I began to work smaller projects.  Starting with simple things, I soon began to whittle a number of useful objects.  Even formed up a wand or three for Mikhail, when  I would see him, which was rare.

Crosnay Drakon they called him at the Hall.  The Red Dragon, in the southern tongue.  He would come and go like a ghost.  He’d rouse me from dead sleep to quiz me on happenings, if he happened through at night.  Ask what I had studied or learned since he had been back.  He’d also leave massive amounts of readings with the scribes to fill my hours.  Geography.  History.  Local lore.  Languages, both ancient and modern. Arcana.  And the Heralds of Summer’s Return.

For centuries, an underground resistance group known as the Heralds of Summer’s Return has fought a guerilla war of attrition against the White Witches and the unnatural winter that cloaks Irrisen. They are made up of descendants of the original Ulfen inhabitants of Irrisen and other freedom fighters. They form more of a loose brotherhood of like-minded revolutionaries than an organized movement, to better protect themselves when the White Witches’ agents inevitably unmask one of their members. The Heralds’ stated aim is to overthrow the White Witches and restore the normal course of seasons to the ice-locked land, but they have yet to prepare a viable strategy to deal with Baba Yaga if they succeed.  In hindsight, even this early learning was aimed at preparing me to come home to aid the Heralds, if that is the path I choose.  

On one of his visits, Mikhail had me bundle everything I owned, which was not much.  We were leaving for Absalom.  

On the way he told me why.

THE PATHFINDER SOCIETY

Regarding the Pathfinders, Mikhail had the following to say:

Even in a world rife with adventure and marvelous beasts, the exploits of heroes still stir hearts and inspire the masses. Those who seek moral lessons from their myths follow the deeds of Aroden, last of the first humans, who emerged from the tumult that sunk the continent of Azlant, gave culture to the people of Taldor, and reclaimed the Starstone from the depths of the Inner Sea. Those who seek excitement prefer saga heroes like Bragi Balehammer or the indefatigable Molaho Khem, whether or not these fanciful adventurers ever really existed. But those who seek to claim ancient power as their own, who seek to strengthen themselves by unwinding the secret history of the world tread the footsteps of the elusive Pathfinder Society.

Members of the Society are part archaeologist, part historian, and part foolhardy adrenaline addict. They chase rumors of treasure like miners prospect gold, and often

come out richer in the end. Their mother lodes are the crumbling ruins of ancient civilizations and the forgotten funeral chambers of centuries-dead monarchs. Such places

often boast powerful guardians or recalcitrant squatters, so the life of a Pathfinder is fraught with danger. Few die in their beds.  But those that live, they gain power.

Power.  The ability to determine my fate.  And the fate of the Jadwiga.  The Jadwiga have power; it is known.  But so did these Pathfinders.  And they were always looking for more.  They would do.

I made my way with Mikhail west to the coast, to Kalsgaard.  It was the first time I had seen a true city.  I wondered aloud that it must be the biggest city in the world.  Mikhail grunted, then slapped the back of my head.  “Never assume you have seen the biggest thing.  Or the deadliest thing.  Or the most terrifying thing.  Because then you will underestimate your enemies.  Besides, you will be in the biggest city in the world next week.”  He smirked, but then tousled my hair.  It was the last time I would see him for two years.  He put me on a ship that day to the City at the Center of the World.

Absalom stinks.  Kalsgaard had its own smell, of the sea, and fish, and huge crowds of unwashed bodies.  But it was a natural smell.  Absalom’s smell is the same, only squared upon itself.  Multiplied, layer on layer, and then doubled again.  Then mixed in with deceit.  Manipulation.  Misery.  Perhaps my sense of scent just never adjusted to it.  I pray it never does.  Every time I return to the “City at the Center of the World”  (arrogant) I have to adjust myself to it.  Maybe it’s part of the reason I have little desire to return to the Grand Lodge in Absalom.

When I presented myself at the gates of the Grand Lodge, I was armed with a letter from Mikhail.  I still have no idea what it said, but whatever it was, it served its purpose.  I was eventually shown inside, stripped of my belongings, and made a slave once more.  At least I was used to it, and it served a purpose.  Mikhail had told me that if I served them well for a period of time, they would put me in a position to seek out power, and use their resources to do it.  I spent the next two years in a bizarre mix of a servant’s duties and a scholar’s studies.  My dealings with the Jadwiga left me no stranger to menial demands.  But it was the studies that became the center of my existence.  Arcane lore.  Spellcraft.  Alchemical properties.  Religions.  History.  Strange tongues.  I met others in my time there, most unremarkable.  A young female Kitsune name Kagome was a classmate.  We shared some classes.  She seemed a bit more interested in self-indulgence than scholarship, but she seemed capable enough.  A fair shot as well.

Part of my training in the Society included a period of time at the Acadamae in Korvosa.  Their focus on conjuration magic was attractive, but I did not realize the extent of their focus on the Dark Arts of demon and devil conjuration until I had begun my studies there.  After  a year there, I had learned what I could to adapt to my own magiks and then shook the dust of their school from my feet.  Good riddance.

Shortly thereafter, I was given my first posting.  Quartermastery and basic local knowledge instruction for Venture Captain Sheila Heidmarch in the city of Magnimar.

- Garath