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[The text of the journal of Alabaster Nethembal, Cartographer, is written in a black, looping script on soft off-white parchment. The text is mainly composed on two pages, with a depiction of the statue of Branwen and Rook on a third page with the caption "The statues of Branwen and Rook, as depicted by Milosh N." In the picture, there is a shorter humanoid with a raven head wearing a white doublet, wielding a longsword in their right hand and holding a flame-like aura in their left hand. The figure on the right is taller, bearing a crystalline crown, and is similarly a raven-headed humanoid. He holds nothing in his hands but his left claw is covered in aura that licks all the way up his arm. Both figures look up slightly and to the center.]
24 Mareshyir 1120, Day of Life
The journey has been a difficult one, lying low and dodging patrols of Kingdom soldiers and battle-worn shambling undead with my crew. We received word and set out from the hamlet serving the Baron's now-quiet manor that Knoch'Len was managing to evacuate civilians elsewhere. We are not fighters, but mere cartographers and surveyors, I would not know the first thing about tilling a field or swinging a sword to defend our group. Upon reaching the outskirts of the town, a guard in the familiar blue and black colors directed us through barricades after checking through our belongings. Fortunately, the rough-handed high orc who scrutinized our cartography supplies seemed satisfied with our explanation and pointed us toward the aptly named Dead Walk Inn at the center of town. There, finishing their breakfast, exchanging potions, checking over gear, and clearly recovering from one battle and preparing for another, we found a motley crew of adventurers. I have long thought of them as merely mercenaries who cause more problems than they solve, but I could not help being grateful for them. Selunari, humans, dryads, elves, and even a man who appeared to be some sort of snake or reptile-kin covered in knives and resplendent armor came together to escort us.
Milosh, Emil, Hargrim and I disappeared into the crowd of about - no, precisely one hundred civilians - that were to be given passage. A sack was passed back through the ranks while we hung back, to place anything they could use more than we could, a collection in gratitude of their aid. At the end, it rattled with weapons, shields, potions, elixirs, globes, and scrolls. The group we had spotted in the tavern served as an advance guard, fighting their way through undead ahead while others protected the flanks and rear of our terrified rabble. I did not see where the sack ended up, having been jostled into the middle of the press of people smelling of aromatic herbs, livestock, and sweat - a heady mixture I was happy to be rid of when we passed through the swirling portal under the observation of a tall man who seemed to be a raven Wylderkin until closer inspection gave an otherworldly feel to him.
On the other side, even before the crowd dispersed, there was a change in the air, the taste of sea breeze, a cool freshness and a smell in the air I could only describe as clean and sweet. It was quieter here, murmurs instead of shouts as people reunited with their families and our group reconvened away from the portal mouth to gape at what we saw. The colors here seemed starker somehow, richer, like the leaves were made of fine-cut jewels. We were by a harbor, and the one ship in port had sails that looked like massive raven wings, currently folded and furled as though the craft was sleeping. Looking for signs of where to go while our benefactor was busy on the other side, I found a tall statue, about fifteen feet high, of two raven fae that the plaque identified as Rook and Branwen, with the words on the plaque seeming to warp to be readable in my native language, "May this port give safe harbor to all in need." With minimal exploration down the path, our group was able to find the Crow's Nest, the local tavern. The buildings here are of starkly beautiful but simple construction, and there is a definite theme of black and white in the banners and decorations. Nobody seemed to be staffing the tavern as of yet, as if it was a void waiting to be filled by those who came through from Knoch'Len. The mood around the Crow's Nest seemed relieved, relaxed, and congenial, with members of all sentient races, even lofty Biata and brusque High Ogres offering to help one another and sup together.
At least to start, the people who filled in the tavern shared what they had and a few tentatively began working the kitchen to make a meal for everyone before guards wearing the colors of Barony Mercer came to join for a meal. Afterward, they directed groups to set up small encampments near the heart of Port Morgan, urging us to stay together. Apparently there are blood-thirsty fae even here, called Redcaps for the blood they drench their hats in! We were assured that guard rotations would preserve us while we slept, but such is the way of things even seemingly outside the dangerous lands of Barran. It would not feel like a home if something were not trying to murder us in our sleep, would it?
As the light fades, I lay down my pen and prepare for what tomorrow may bring. -A. N
