Chronicle: Another Day in Villehelm

Please re-read the previous chronicle first. There was a late edit, and should be reviewed for continuity. Thanks.

Shreev knew something that Krellion did not. For hours that day, he sat motionless on the wall, staring off into the hills. Wylven had abandoned him almost immediately on introduction, and Krellion had nothing to do but to listen to Shreev. Shreev had very little to say though, and they spent most of the time just looking off into the distance. There was some small talk, Shreev asked about the weather where Krellion was from, and paid little attention when the Eladrin started elaborating on his home town and the people he knew. It was a quiet day on the wall. Too quiet for the Warlord's liking.

"Do you know something, Shreev? Is there something out there?" Krellion asked, as it was nearing sundown.

"Ah, yes. I forget that not everyone can sense it. The battles. They have their own ebb and flow, and one is nearing us." He spoke, but no part of him moved in order to do so, Krellion wondered exactly where the words came from.

"Are you saying you were built to sense a battle just as I was born to see the sky or feel the wind blow? I find that highly unlikely, Captain." Krellion said as he ruffled the hair on the left side of skull.

Shreev turned to look more to the west, still not facing Krellion. "It is the same way when a man or elf approaches me and tells me how wonderful it is to be alive. I cannot fathom life, and the concept confuses me greatly. I was built for war, and my life is war."

Krellion stopped short. He sat down with his back against the wall and thought about this until the 8th bell rang. It was getting late, and he was ready for a short rest. Just as he began to enter a meditative state, the warforged jabbed him in his chest with a rounded wooden truncheon.

"When you meditate tonight, meditate not on my words, for they will bend you to do wrong. Every warforged leader needs at least one among the living to advise." Shreev uttered the words as if they would be Krellion's last. And Krellion meditated on them for a full four hours.


Krellion snapped out of his trance just as he heard the final bell of the night. It was dark, but he could still see fairly well with his keen fey-like eyes. "I understand Shreev. And I am prepared to do exactly what you need of me, even if it means destroying you if necessary."

"That's what I needed to hear. Glad to be serving with you, Captain Krellion."

Chronicle: Krellion's First Day

Doctor Wilven sighed, "It's not easy up on the wall, you sure you got what it takes?"

Krellion, the Warlord, looked at him through his Feyborn eyes and replied, "Yes."

"Straight to the facts. Ok, I'll introducte you to Captain Shreev." Wilven burst out of the door to his his home and office and into the streets of Villehelm, Krellion walked firmly by his side. Neither of them showing the slightest inflection of emotion as they marched toward the northern gate of the village.

The northern gate to the village was quite impressive considering the amount of people and resources that they were able to expend in these parts. It was nearly 30 feet high, which was just out of reach of the largest giant they have yet to see, and braced on either side by enormous hunks of metal. The metal hunks appeared to be nothing more than a collecting of wagon rims, horseshoes, and old weapons and tools fused into 40 foot long polls. This was keeping the main gate from falling to the swings of 15 foot stone clubs.

Krellion was led up the stairs inside the gatehouse to a small office on what could only be called the second floor. Captain Shreev was there, and he wasn't breathing.

Captain Shreev was not living. At least, not in the traditional sense. He was not undead either. He had a soul, but it was bound to the object that he, and everyone around him, considered his body. There was no flesh, no blood, no heart, but he still felt. He was a warforged, and he was the most valuable asset Villehelm has ever had.

"The warforged are more than just metallic statues of fierce warriors, they are soulful, and they are not too different from those born of more natural methods." Said Wilven. He can think, and care, and hate. To us, he is another person, and a member of our family.

"Are you ready for your first mission?"

Krellion nodded.

Chronicle: Of Politics and Prejudice

A.J. Thomas was not the oldest member of the village, yet he held the title, Eldest. He has seen few more than 50 winters, and still goes strong to this day. His position in Villehelm is one of great posterity, and one of great importance. He and four other elders oversee the business and politics that are designed to protect and nurture their fellow villagers.

It was this day though, that A.J. Thomas, or Eldest Thomas, as he preferred to be addressed as, was having a bit of turmoil with one his most valuable assets.

"Goblins in the forest kill without mercy, Eldest. Each of them risked their lives to get us this medicine. And all they've got from us so far is a free night at the inn and a few meals." Doctor Truss Wilven was accosting the Elder Council at this point. The 5 of them sat straight backed against their oaken chairs, staring at a kneeling Doctor pleading.

Eldest Thomas snorted, his wrinkled bronze nose leaked a bit as he took a dirty cloth to his face. He spoke with muffled words through the cloth, "I don't understand..."

"We would have lost 10 men doing the same-" Wilven burst out.

"And they will be compensated doctor." Thomas interrupted him, "But, can you prove to me that we could not have got a cleric here in ample time for less money to perform a decleansing? I believe there is one that is able to teleport and perform a ritual for less than 700 gold pieces these days. Why did we not pursue this option?"

"Damnit, Arthur. This is not why I'm here, and this has nothing to do with your damned gods!" Wilven was extremely tired by this point. Tired and irritable, as many doctors are.

Thomas sighed, "Now now, I understand that you were simply trying to help, but perhaps you might reconsider consulting the council before sending wanderers off to perform life threatening tasks in the name of our village. Perhaps we will look the other way on this one, and let you reward them from your own pocket?"

Wilven spat, "You! You bitter old Paladin. You think that an atheist doctor is a threat to your god maybe? That people will start believing in me rather than believe in your mystics?" He started to clench his fist as tight as he could, a drop of blood trickled out from under the one fingernail he had not chewed to the bone. "I'm sorry. I should... not... have spoken that way. I request that you not punish these heroes, and take out whatever necessary discipline you feel necessary out on me."

"And we shall do both. But you may find some things changing soon, good doctor." Thomas laughed, "In fact, you can be assured they will change. And you can be assured they will change you. They will receive 800 gold pieces from our treasury, and we shall deliberate on your punishment until tomorrow. You may rest now, at 8 bells we will see you back here, and you will know our decision."

Chronicle: The Heroes Return

Truss Wilven had done all he could to help the poisoned children. His day was spent gathering some select herbs from outside the village, looking specifically for a certain root that was known to slow blood flow. It was a common remedy for slowing poison until an antidote could be found, and a common poison applied to the blades of assassins. Too much would be quickly fatal, and a tired doctor could be a dangerous killer at this perilous time.

There was no danger though, Truss himself had quaffed an entire pot of some of the most vibrant tea he could brew, and as such would be livelier than a stampede of tigers. The potion was made, and the children had taken their share. The first of the children turned pale almost immediately. He looked half dead, unable to move save for some slow, light breaths. The four of them were almost entirely unconscious, and not one would see their demise just yet.

Wilven made his way to the battlements by the north gate, where he would sit and wait. A haphazardly armored young guard stood by him as he crouched, leaning over the edge of the stockade wall.

"There's goblins out there, Larr." Truss said to the guard, eyes glazed, and mouth hardly moving.

"'s true doc, worried?" Larr Catyk replied.

Truss sighed, "No. But I'm wondering if I should be." He took a deep breathe and leaned against the back shelf of the battlement. "Everything I've ever believed in, which has not included any god or immortal that you could name, is telling me that these kids aren't going to die yet. I just can't believe for a second that they wouldn't survive."

"I believe it, doc. They're young, and don't deserve it."

Wilven shrugged, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to know when to run from a critter in the hills. 17 now."

Wilven stood up, and looked Larr in the eye, "Daniel is 15 now, son. I'm 34. We live in the hills, and any one of us could die any day to a number of things. But we're not going to run from everything that looks at us funny. We stand and fight, and we lick our wounds when we win, and we bury the dead when we lose. But either way, people are going to get hurt, and get sick, and they're going to die. But they're not going to die if I can help it. That's why every town needs a healer, even if they have to settle for one of those god-loving clergymen."

Larr slinked back, and looked off into the hills to the north. "Hey, hey doc! It's them! And it looks like one of 'em has a full sack! I bet it's the mushroom!"

Wilven was ecstatic. There was nothing he wanted more than to forget about the reality he just painted for the boy next to him.

Chronicle: The Doctor And His Pipe

Truss was not an elderly man. Most would guess he has yet to live his 40th season, and they would be quite right in that assumption. He was not elderly, but he was very wise, and good at what he did. He dressed in meager garments though, his full sleeved shirts were always wrinkled and dirty. If it was a long night, they'd be covered in blood. But he always made sure to wash the blood out or throw it away after. His pants were typically thick and made from flax, brown and black were his colors of choice. Very plain indeed. His features were about as average as one could get. But there were two things that were utterly unique about Dr. Truss Wilven.

The first: his methods. When there were cities in these hills, Truss would not have been invited to use his skills for healing. The hospitals in these hills were generally reserved for a more spiritual healing. The sick would rely on the clerics of the village to be able to heal them. Although oftentimes a sickness would be stronger than the divine intervention required, and fathers, mothers, and children alike would pass on while the clergy did little more than mutter to themselves about how sad it was. If the gods had no mercy, there was nothing they would do. Truss was different. He prayed to no god, and he healed with his wisdom before he healed with his faith. In his entire career, not a single soldier had passed under his working hands. Although, it is not to say that he never lost a patient. Sometimes when an elder townsperson is brought in, there is nothing he can do but know when it is time for them to go. That is the Wilven way.

The other thing that is completely unique about Truss, is his pipe. His pipe was a wonder throughout the village, and there was not a single citizen who did not look upon it with awe when they saw it. The pipe itself was swirled with blues, greens, and streaked with red from end to end. It was shaped and patterned in such a way to look like an ancient and mystical dragon from the mountains to the east. This was not the amazing part. When Truss lit the end, which would have been the dragons skull, the face on the front began to move. It would sometimes blink, or stare, or look around with an impatient glare. Often times it would blow smoke out of its nose, and on rare occassions it would breathe a small spark of flame at some of the more curious onlookers. If Truss put it down while the tobacco was still lit, the dragon would flap it's wings in futility, and crawl around, as if looking for a den. Yes, this pipe was certainly unique, and it could only be held by a Wilven.

"8 bells in the morning already, how long are these adventurers going to sleep for?" Wilven said outloud to himself. Inner monologue fades when one has not slept. He stood up and stretched again. Once he was thoroughly satisfied with the amount of pops and cracks, he reached for the knob of the backdoor to the inn. Vinn was shuffling toward him, half a kick in his step. A full kick would have turned gravity against him, and he would know the joys of a face full of hardwood floor.

Vinn gleamed as he saw Wilven standing there, "Truss! They're ripe and rearin' to go! I've got 'em in the tea room waiting."

"Thanks Vinn, I'll let you know if they can help me after I meet with them." Wilven stepped through the door, and down the corridor into the tea room of the Inn.

The tea room was a most unimpressive room, just like the rest of the Inn. There were little decorations, except a few animal heads mounted above the stone hearth. The chairs were all made of a brown hard wood, and a large oak colored table took up the center. Four people were scattered about the room, all of them looked out of place, yet right where they belong.

Wilven gave them half of his best smile, "Welcome to Villehelm, I need your help. Now."

Within half an hour, he watched them from the parapets of the village wall as they trekked to the East, into the Poisonous Mushroom Forest.

Chronicle: Adventure in Villehelm

Doctor Truss Wilven has no desk to work at. In fact, he's less of a doctor, and more of a patron to the village that he made his home. His village is surrounded by a wall of towering logs, side by side they loom over any and all who advance. Except for those who the doctor fears most, giants. This particular night, however, the doctor is spending stooped over four of the villages young ones.

"Daniel, please do tell what bit you. I've asked almost a dozen times now, and the sooner I get an answer, the sooner we fix this." He asked the older of the four children, his eyes already reddened from the lack of sleep gave him a hideous stare. One the child would not forgot.

"I told you! I didn't see it. Arie was the one who got bit, we didn't know where she was." Daniel, the oldest, replied. "We all found her by the cairn near Morrow Cliff. We tried to get a bandage on her, but she bleeding so much..."

Wilven looked disgusted, "Hush child. We will deal with this regardless. Although your story has changed sufficiently each hour, I believe the full truth may come out within the year. Unfortunately we don't have that time. Get to rest, I will figure something out, even if I have to go into the mushroom forest on my own."

Daniel looked at him, tears pouring out of his eyes, "Sorry, sir."

Wilven was almost out the door when he turned and looked at Daniel, "I know." His eyes were even more bloodshot now, as tears began to run down his own cheek. "Lannie will be here in a few minutes, tell her I'm on my way to Vinn's." And the door closed gently behind him.


Wilven walked sleepily down the hard packed roads of Villehelm. It was a fairly calm night, and he enjoyed smelling the fresh air after spending most of the night inhaling fumes from likely medicines. Vinn was already standing outside the tavern when Wilven arrived.

"Evenin' Vinn, any good news?" Wilven asked, nodding as he approached.

"That depends there Truss. Turns out a small pack of travelers turned up at about 6 bells. Look like a hardy bunch. Got a need?"

Wilven couldn't help but crack a smile at this news. It was well known that anyone who could travel from town to town in a small group was worth more than their weight in gold. He sat down beside the burly innkeeper and started packing a pipe. "A need Vinn? Yeah, you could say that. You let me know when they're awake, I'll be right here."