My name is Lucas Higgs, also known as “Bosun” for some strange reason. Emotions and confusion swirl within my head as I try to come to grasp my rebirth. Azerjhan has suggested that I review this log and to make a few log entries with the expectation that I would regain, at least, part of my previous memories. I’m dubious about it, but I’m willing to try anything at this point.
The first thing I remember is awakening in a strange place, a wagon at rest for the night. I blinked my eyes and sat up, waves of pain rolled through my head. Air burned red tinged, white hot in my lungs as I drew desperate breaths. My panicked actions awoke those around me. They seemed to know me, with the exception of one individual named Sven. He made it rather clear that he distrusted my horns and tail. Apparently, they are new additions from the rebirth. But, on the whole, they remained cordial and seem willing to help me understand what happened to me.
The next day we arrived at what appears to be our destination, Waterdeep. The wagons of the caravan joined a long line of other wagons awaiting inspection by city authorities. Three of the wagons that we have expressed interest split from the caravan to move north through Waterdeep to an unknown location. The rest of the caravan turned to a road that would eventually take them to a major market plaza. This, naturally, left us in an unenviable position. We could hardly follow the cult wagons openly and still maintain the charade that we were simple merchants. Yet, we risked losing the wagons in the city if we tarried over long.
Jemna offered to assist in following the cult wagons and we agreed to meet at the aforementioned plaza in six hours’ time to discuss what to do next. I needed to outfit myself in more usable garb than what I had owned previously. Luckily, my former self had been quite proficient, if not overly thrifty, in his, my, duties as a bard. As such, I was able to outfit myself with a new set of splint mail and a great sword. Something compelled me to seek out the Order of the Gauntlet in Waterdeep, but I ran out of time before I could locate them.
Returning to the plaza, Jemna and company quickly outlined what they discovered. The cult wagons had rolled into the yard of the High Road Charter Company. The High Road, leading north, had been destroyed and the HRCC had been contracted out to reclaim it from the Mere and restore it for safe travel. We sold our current goods and took up residence in an inn across the street from the HRCC yard. The walls around the yard were high and attempts to glean information by climbing on to the roof of the inn were unsuccessful. We finally elected to take the more direct path, through the front door.
As we entered the yard, we noticed the cult wagons; however, they appeared to be empty and we didn’t have a chance to look closer at them. All around us were wagons and supplies, food and tools, timbers for rebuilding bridges and raw rock to pave the new surface. We were introduced to Ardred Briferhew, the current foreman for the HRCC and leader of a convoy heading north to the current worksite to relieve the crew that was already there.
A few of us were able to sign on as guards for the wagon; however, the caravan was flush with guards and Briferhew was in need of laborers. I, and a couple others, signed on as such. We were told to finish up our business in town and join the caravan tomorrow for departure to the north.
The journey north was quiet, if eventful. We were set upon three times, bandits, ogres, giant frogs and the like, but rarely did it offer a challenge and broke the monotony of the travel. After 10 further days of travel, we arrived at the Carnath Roadhouse. The roadhouse is a two story affair, sturdily built and recently repaired. We entered the courtyard and begin to help unload the cargo.
As we unloaded, we noted that a few of the crates were being directed to locations that were unusual. Bags of sand, rock and tools were being stored in their respective places in storerooms, but these crates were being taken into the strong room. We attempted to take one of these small crates to the strongroom, but were quickly directed to carry the remainder of the items, leaving the crates to others.
As the wagons were finally unloaded, the camp superintendent, a half-orc known as Bog Luck, addressed us as a crowd. He described the rooming arrangements and expectations for the roadhouse. They were simple, keep to yourself and rest while you are here. The job is difficult, but the rewards are fair, generous even.
As we began to disperse, a woman from the wagons that we identified as the cult shrieked across the courtyard at Azujhan. She held the impression that our dragonborn friend had been responsible for the death of her friend. She challenged him, his manhood and his honor. It was obvious; the cultist was seeking a fight. I laid a hand on Azujhan’s arm and turned to the cultist. I needed to prove my worth to the group and, even though I hadn’t known him long, my time with Azujhan had convinced me that he was no murderer. A killer, yes, but aren’t we all? You don’t take the job we have in this world and expect to come away clean. But cold blooded murder? Impossible!
I drew my blade and squared my shoulders for the inevitable assault. She was skilled, I have to grant her that. A few of the blows she landed stung as they breeched my defenses. However, the might of Torm, Tyr and Ilmater seared through my body and my arms and I was unstoppable. In short order, another cultist lay at my feet.
I whisked the blood from my blade with a quick flick of the wrists and returned to my ready stance. I expected the remainder of her crew to beset me, having taken her out. However, none of these did more than cast dangerous, hateful glares at me before they moved to retrieve the body of their comrade.
In all honesty, from here, the details are hearsay. I retired to the stables, which were both drier and more comfortable to rest. While the rest of the crew was friendly, I still find it awkward and had elected to spend my time to myself.
From what I can piece together, two of our members had gotten curious and decided to sneak into the strongroom to investigate the diverted crates. While they were there, they were attacked by a group of lizardmen that entered through a disguised trap door. Jemna frantically roused me from my sleep and I followed her directions to the strongroom. I only had time to grab my sword, my faith in Torm, Tyr and Ilmater would simply have to serve as my armor.
The fight was winding down as I entered and the crew had acquitted themselves honorably. Elyria was badly injured, but was quickly roused. We finished off the remainder of the Lizardfolk.
We followed the tunnel they had emerged from, it wound down from the strongroom to the edge of the Mere. Tracks and boxes showed that this area was well travelled. Obviously, we intend to investigate further.