The Sword Coast Seas

The Journal of Torryn Dunne

Upon returning to Castle Redaxe


It was a terrible few days being held in the mine. I confess that I shall have nightmares for the rest of my life about the sick… and the dying… and the transformations.

I am grateful for the arrival of Captain Bremmer’s crew, who brought the Keoghtom’s Ointment which we had contracted her to deliver. And even though Bremmer has a reputation for fairness, I was surprised to see a few of her crew attempting to show mercy to the Alliance soldiers. I know those green soldiers were merely following orders, but what does it say of the world that pirates show more mercy in combat than the supposed defenders of the realm showed to their own constituents?

No matter what this War Duke Rolanda Stoutvale says about how the Lord’s Alliance would have eventually helped us, I know that we had no choice but to seek Bremmer’s help. After all, the bribe I paid to that Baldur’s Gate quartermaster confirmed how far down the list of Alliance aid recipients our tiny hamlet was. My darker musings even lead me to wonder: who brought the gray-skinned death here in the first place? Surely even the most ruthless of the Lord’s Alliance leaders would never stoop that low…right?

But as I catch my breath back here in the castle, I fear the price we must pay beyond that of the gold now owed. Will the Lord’s Alliance forever abandon the protection of Gundabarg? If so, how long will we survive as an orphan of the sea, and who will claim our lands first? Pirates of a more vicious stripe? Merfolk? Sahuagin? I heard rumors of a mind flayer amidst today’s chaos, but that smacks of delusion; surely we rate below their attentions, at least.

Our boy king Errol is a sweet child but knows nothing of diplomacy. Efri Hillswind has yet to tip their hand or that of the City Guard, but they aren’t one for subtlety. Will it fall to me to beg for mercy from this Stoutvale who locked us away as pawns in her pirate hunting game? If that’s what “the greater good” looks like to her, what hope is there for mercy to exist in her at all?

I meant for this journal to serve as a guide for King Errol when he came of age. Now I fear I’m chronicling the end of our village for no audience save the sand and sea.


faletti faletti

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