I wish to write on a subject most troublesome in my mind. My baronly hand was forced last night by dire circumstances and I was made to parlay with a most unrighteous fellow. One who had called into question mine and my companions very honor itself! The decision weighs heavy on my brow in ways most unimaginable. Father never mentioned the trials of rule being quite like this. Let me weave the tale then, that all the future generations may know of the Springtime Plot against Hoarsport and the Barony of Praktenheim!
Having returned from Oleg’s and lands to the North, most recently the boggy hollow of our most squishy comrade, Slurpy-D, my brave companions and I entered Hoarsport to a great deal less fanfare than was to be expected. We had been gone but less than a month, it is true, but the smallfolk looked upon us with disdain, it seemed, and I knew something must be amiss. Our hearts no longer beat as one and it disturbed me so, for my love for the Horsportians knows no bounds. As we neared the town square, the most common grounds for assembly, near our dear Inn of the Grumbling Giant, We took notice of a gathering of peasants and workers, courtesans and maids. In the center of the throng stood a man unfamiliar to us all, a most slimey sort of eunuch. We watched as he spoke, with point’ed beard and fork’ed tongue, damning and belittling our righteous band, calling into question my very rule and my love for the people. Woe be unto his soul had not my trusted advisors and companions stayed my lance, claiming, and perhaps rightfully, that slaying the man as he spoke would only serve to bolster his most incorrect argument.
It would seem that sightings of Trolls in the frontiers, near Praktenheims most far-flung farmlands, had served to drive this man to action, claiming that the leaders of Hoarsport were most unconcerned with the safety of its citizenry, and were out seeking personal gain in the Stolen Lands. The smallfolk knew not that we had just obtained knowledge of the Troll stronghold from our amphibious ally to the North, but whenever I tried to explain such matters to concerned Hoarsportians, the words failed me and simply emerged as a feral growl, so full of rage was I at the poisoned words of this craven dissident.
The following day we set out to calm the people and address their troubles, and it was then that we learned how deep the taint of this liar, whose name we learned to be Grigori, had gone. The smallfolk could talk of little but trolls and treason, complaining of our perceived inaction. The deceiver need be stopped. And so it was that Larochka confronted him that evening in the Inn of the Grumbling Giant, and sought to use her courtly and perhaps uncourtly charms to sway him into ceasing his rousing of rabbles. His guile, however, proved to be of equal to her own, perhaps even greater, and the battle of wits was lost for fair Larochka, the nights favor won by Grigori the Schemer.
We retreated the Inn’s common room to our basement apartments, and there, while Bold Hoarsport slept, my most able and cunning councilors and I did devise a plan to learn of Grigoris no doubt seedy and impure past. He had only arrived recently, according to Counselor Kobold, but we suspected that information might be gained by investigating his room in the Inn, and perhaps spying on his messages, a process which in the future may be referred to as “raven-tapping.”
And so on the morning of the Twenty-Ninth day of Desnus, in the year 4710 Absalom’s Reckoning, as Sarenrae the Dawnflower’s rosy-fingers spread across Golarian, we hatched our counter-plot. Noble Leluc assumed the form of a bird by the divine grace of Gorum, and he did follow Grigori as he gathered milling commoners to proselytize, spreading many and more a wicked lie about our stoic band. All the while, Larochka, Bootamos and I waited outside the Inn, under the very window of the beguilers room. There it was that Larochka used some form of majiks upon my being, but I felt no fear as I began to vanish from sight. I have learned that it is often necessary to use powers normally considered cowardly in manners of statehood and ruling, a sad truth to be told. But climb I did, up the very walls of the Inn of the Grumbling Giant, and into Grigoris sniveling window did I leap, seeing his room and bed asunder with all manner of filth and buggery, his shallow bowl of watered down milk, his breakfast no doubt, which he must lap up as does a common house-troll, too weak is his eunuch stomach to digest a man’s breakfast, hearty with staunch beer and cheese, blackened bacon, eggs and blood pudding, gruel and heavy oats! Ha HA! I snatched from the table a curious envelope with a seal I am unfamiliar with, and hurried from the room in haste, fearing the taint of his cowardice might infect my gallant heart. The letter, we later found, was most incriminating and dire, for it outlined a plot against the very Barony of Praktenheim by a cowardly noble Lord Iroveti of Pitax!
With such evidence at hand we proceeded to arrest the deceiver upon his return to the Inn, and hold immediate trial, calling forth to all of Hoarsport to witness the shame of this master of lies. He once again tried to use his foul tricks to influence the common folk, this time by charming a young boy. So revealing of his devious lifestyle was this attempt, that the people were not fooled in the least, and, found guilty of subterfuge, Grigori was taken to the prison.
It was there however, that I was forced to do this most impure thing with which I began this journal entry. In our questioning towards the nature of the found letter, Grigori revealed much about himself beyond what we had already discovered. His love of money most paramount, and his lack of allegiance second. It came to pass that we decided better to spare his life perhaps, that we may gain further knowledge of the workings of this far more cowardly Lord of Pitax. In the dead of night we released the schemer in secret, granting him horse and saddle, and bidding him to return from whence he was hired, the distant Fort Drevlev to the East, to act as a double agent, an informant to Praktenheim. I looked not upon his silhouette fading into the horizon, for it was all I could do to maintain my honor.
upon the very heavens
where I first saw
specular shimmers, we;
the scales are tipped
- Hoather Farland,
30 Desnus 4710 AR